The Story of Us: Omnibus
by TheNewIdea
Summary: The stories that are included here are works that focus on human elements and concepts. Some of them were published separately but are included in this collection due to common themes, characters, or elements. Covers most of my cartoon canons as well as some that fit the profile. The editing process will be gradual, as most of the time allotted will go towards compiling.
1. Time

Part One: Time

Warner Brothers Studios, Looney Tunes

Young Folks

Sylvester, Wile E. Coyote, Elmer Fudd, Yosemite Sam, and Marvin the Martian were all wondering why that each of them, of their own accord, had decided, for no particular reason, to sit in their cars, in Marvin's case his flying saucer, in Wile E's case his controlled ACME rocket, and simply take a moment to breathe for the sake of breathing.

Elmer Fudd looked around his car, it was significantly dirty, for he hadn't bothered to clean it in a few weeks. The dashboard was covered in an inch of dust, the passenger seat was worn and falling apart, the leather upholstery was frayed and had a large hole in the headrest, making it impossible to use. The floor of the car was covered in trash, from Styrofoam coffee cups, to old newspapers from 1965, to bits and pieces of food, crumbs mostly.

Elmer himself was scraggy looking. On his face were numerous wrinkles, the years having been kind to him (at least as far as he was concerned), on his forehead, around his eyes and mouth. His four day beard was beginning to get out of hand, partially because he lost his razor four days ago and has so far been unable to find a replacement, and in part due to laziness. Elmer wasn't wearing his usual hunter gear, which was in a small duffle bag, along with his gun, next to him in the passenger seat. Instead, he had on a white button-up shirt and khaki pants, as if he didn't work at Warner Brothers and was instead sitting in front of a paper company.

To the right of Elmer's car was Wile E.'s rocket, on which the coyote sat. Wile E. was wearing a biker's helmet and goggles, to help with the wind and to allow maximum visibility, for driving a rocket, at least his rocket, was very much like driving a motorcycle, requiring balance, speed and safety. Wile E. was also wearing a black leather jacket, much like a Hells Angel would, again, this served two purposes-function, for it was particularly cold that morning and the jacket provided warmth from both wind from the rocket and the cold air otherwise; and fashion, simply because it made Wile E. look like a natural killer, which helped with the image of being adversary to Road Runner.

Speaking of images, Wile E. was physically healthy for his age, only nine years younger than Elmer. A card carrying member of the local gym; a personal friend of all his physicians, in that he had their numbers and checked with them regularly; and a balanced diet of fruit and vegetables, meat, dairy, grain and the occasional indulgence in a fat or oil. In terms of social life Wile E. was average, he had a small group of friends in the Looney Tunes circle, even more at Disney, just down the road. A frequenter of bars and night clubs in an attempt to fit in and keep up with times, the only thing that Wile E. lacked in abundance of was intimacy, the reason for the bars and clubs. All of that being said, Wile E. was not a deviant, for it was one thing he valued above all else, it was self-respect.

On the other side of the parking lot was Marvin the Martian. Despite outward appearances, the craft was small, only consisting of a cockpit and a broom closet sized bathroom that he never used, for he never went anywhere other than Mars that would warrant it. Out of all the vehicles, Marvin's was the cleanest, for the alien was extremely OCD when it came to tidiness, if it wasn't for his work at Warner Brothers than Marvin would constantly be cleaning, or if there was nothing to clean, he would be complaining about something that no person should ever really spend any decent amount of time complaining about, like air quality for example.

Lying at Marvin's feet was Marvin's dog, K-9. Loyal to a fault and overprotective, K-9's main job, at least as far as Warner Brothers was concerned, was being whatever that was required. Editor, lighting, cameraman, sound, and even assistant director. All of this of course would be impossible for a human, definitely so for a dog, but since K-9 was not bound by normal laws, being both a Martian and a cartoon, such things did not apply. Still, to say that the work was not exhausting was an understatement. Constantly working and thus, constantly stressed, it was rare for K-9 to relax, the only time that he had were on Sundays or on mornings like this, when Marvin sat in his saucer contemplating on whether or not he should go in to work.

"Come on Marvin" K-9 said with a yawn, "We're already here, might as well get started."

Marvin nodded but said and did nothing, keeping his hands on the controls in the event that he changed his mind at the last minute.

Parked on the street up against the sidewalk, was Yosemite Sam, in an old blue, rust covered and junky Dodge pickup truck. He got the truck as a replacement for his Mazda, which was tragically blown up on set by a drunk Daffy Duck who had gotten ahold of a large amount of Wile E's dynamite. Yosemite's beard was shaven, his face bare, making him almost unrecognizable, which is exactly what he wanted. The only way you could really tell that it was Yosemite at all was because of the eyes, which remained a fiery green despite age having caught up to the rest of the body. A cane was resting in the passenger seat, ready for use.

Finally, in the last space closest to the road was Sylvester, sitting in Granny's jalopy, for Sylvester, for numerous reasons, did not have a car of his own. Technically speaking, Granny never drove anyway, which left Sylvester with a 6 cylinder engine that constantly died, a front bumper that was held together with duct tape and bungee cords, a roof with cigarette holes so profound that it went through the metal of the car, letting in sunlight, as well as rain when it stormed, into the car.

Sylvester was wearing a red bowtie, for today was his birthday and he wanted to look presentable, or at least as presentable as possible. With fur that was either falling out or matted, bags under his eyes from a significant lack of sleep and untrimmed claws saying that a bowtie made a difference in the appearance department is simply wishful thinking at best. Sylvester, like Elmer, was old, only five years difference between them.

After twenty minutes of doing nothing but sitting in their respective vehicles thinking about what it is they should do, they made their way inside the building. First it was Wile E. Coyote, his walk confident and proud, then Sylvester, who practically ran to the door, in an effort to beat the cold, for he did not have a jacket of any sort that morning. Yosemite Sam came was fast behind him, for he also neglected to bring a coat, mostly because he did not plan on staying long.

K-9 hopped out of the saucer, on his back was Marvin.

"One of these days you're gonna have to learn to walk on your own feet Marvin" K-9 said, partially annoyed, "It's just concrete. That's all it is. Nothing more."

Marvin nodded nervously and immediately began counting, trying to calculate the amount of time spent outside and the amount of germs that were in the air that he was currently coming in contact with.

Passing by Elmer's car, K-9 moved around to the driver's side and, in an attempt to be helpful, opened the door with his teeth.

"Mornin' Mr. Fudd" K-9 exclaimed, as Elmer got out of the car even though he didn't really want to, "How are we feeling today?"

Elmer smiled and shook his head, for he wasn't feeling any different than yesterday or the day before.

"You know how things are" Elmer replied, rubbing his head at the same time as he closed the door to his car, making his way towards the building, "Same old, same old."

K-9 hung his head, he wished that Elmer would have given him an actual answer, one that would carry a potentially happy, or at least up-beat, conversation.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing" K-9 continued, not bothering to finish the rest of what he was thinking, in case, in saying the wrong thing, Elmer took offense.

Elmer said nothing and merely walked inside. K-9 following close behind just as Marvin reached 57.


	2. Chapter 2

Warner Brothers Studios, Looney Tunes

The Way Things Used to Be

The drawing room of Warner Brothers Studios was row after row after row of desks. On these desks were lamps, large pads of paper, and various pens and pencils. At these desks were animators, for the studio had not yet made the move to computer animation and was still doing things the traditional hand drawn way. This however, within the coming year, would change.

As Wile E., Sylvester, Yosemite, Marvin, K-9, and Elmer walked in, they were greeted by Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Tweety, and Road Runner.

Bugs, who matched Elmer in terms of wardrobe, could only smile as he saw what he considered the best part of the studio enter the drawing room. With his right ear partially blown off in a cannon accident during a reshoot with Yosemite; his buck tooth chipped off after tripping over a misplaced rock; and his left arm currently in a sling, to say that the rabbit was completely ready for the day was an understatement. Still, despite his various injuries, Bugs remained relatively healthy for his age, which given his particular line of work and the increase of stunts, was an achievement.

Daffy was dressed in his Duck Dodgers persona, for today he was going to spend it entirely with Marvin and K-9. The story was an entirely new concept, in which Dodgers seeks revenge on Marvin for murdering his trustee Space Cadet. This was in part to attract modern audiences, as well as to account for Porky, who had committed suicide by way of offering himself up for breakfast at a Denny's after a long and serious depression. Not the most conventional means of death, but it still didn't change the fact that it had happened.

"There's my favorite group of gentlemen" Bugs exclaimed, playfully jabbing the air with his good hand, "We ready to make people laugh?"

Elmer shook his head in disbelief, amazed that Bugs still believed that was what he was there for, he could barely stand, let alone work.

"You're not doing anything" Elmer said as he sat down his bag and opened its contents, putting on the stalker hat, "Not in your condition."

Bugs shook this off and huffed, for he had been through worse and still managed to work. He failed to see why this time had to be any different than all the other times before.

"Stop worrying old timer" Bugs continued, "I'm fine-"

"Look at you!" Elmer yelled interrupting Bugs as he put on his jacket, "You can barely stand! Your arm is in a sling for God's sake! Do you really think that they're going to let you walk in there like you are at your age?"

Sylvester nodded, in full agreement, even he was having doubts about today. Earlier that morning he had gotten an email saying that the shoot was going to be full of anvil drops, explosions and various stunts. If he were ten years younger he wouldn't have a problem with it, but now Sylvester had to be careful. Tweety, who noticed Sylvester's uncomfortableness, tried his best to make things easier.

"Don't worry Sylvester" the bird said, "I've told them to tone it down for yah. We don't want anybody to get hurt. We'll just use special effects and you'll be fine."

Sylvester smiled and let out a soft laugh, for he could count on Tweety, even if it was something that would potentially damage his own health, which was something that the cat admired and one of the many reasons why there were no rivals outside the studio.

"Thanks" Sylvester replied, a bit of spit coming out as his lisp appeared, "It's always nice to know I've got someone to count on."

Wile E. slapped Sylvester's back in support.

"We've got to stick together, if we don't, what else do we have?"

Road Runner, known by his friends as R.R., smiled, for Wile E. had often used the phrase whenever times were particularly hard. He enjoyed it whenever Wile E. spoke his mind but particularly when he had something useful to say, for he always knew exactly what would cheer people up. Road Runner had a phrase of his own but he rarely used it, he rarely spoke at all and never at work, seeing people other than his friends- the animators, the directors, and the Warner Brothers themselves, unworthy of his time.

Daffy, Marvin, and K-9, collectively made their way over to Studio A, where the short was being shot. The director, Julie Hunt, a woman of fine taste, little time, and virtually no sense of humor, was sitting in her director's chair looking miserable. This was nothing new, for Julie always looked miserable as if she didn't want to be there, she didn't. She was hired by the Warner Brothers in order to create drama and dramatic sequences, something she was good at and actually enjoyed, but working with the Looney Tunes, particularly Daffy, told her that this was not the high paying job that offered much in the way of opportunity. It was comedy and Julie hated comedy, seeing it as a waste of time, energy, and talent, better used elsewhere, like in drama, which she believed, was more true to real life.

Marvin, putting on his jetpack and preparing his prop gun, turned towards Daffy, a worried look on his face.

"Daffy" Marvin began, his voice soft, "Are you sure about this?"

Daffy did not answer and instead walked over to the set to go over breathing exercises. Marvin, refusing to be so easily dismissed, followed him.

"I'm not comfortable with this" Marvin continued, "We're talking about murder."

Julie cleared her throat, Marvin turned around, discovering that she was right behind her, her eyes staring him down as if she were about to spontaneously combust into a fiery demon. Strangely, Marvin was unfazed and slightly turned on, for Martian women were known to have a temper.

"What we're talking about is ratings Mr. Martian" Julie explained, "Contemporary audiences want action, they want violence."

K-9 raised his eyebrows, for unlike Marvin he found Julie unsettling, for Martian bitches were different than the Martian women, they were compassionate towards their mates and generally decent people, almost an entire different society based on trust and mutual appreciation.

"What about making people laugh?" K-9 said, "That's what got us here remember, we abandon that and people are going to react. You can't just change the formula, it doesn't work that way."

Julie shook her head, for that was exactly how things worked if the right people were involved. Drama was easy to follow and less objective than comedy, which always carried the risk of not being funny. The studio was moving in a different direction, in order to stay relevant, they had to move with the times.

"Times are changing K-9" Julie declared, "Do you hear people shouting your names? Do people flock to the theatres and the movie houses? No. Netflix, Amazon Prime, and ventures like it have taken over. They have replaced and redefined the movie watching experience."

K-9 huffed, failing to see why the evolution of movies was a valid reason to compromise their integrity or their reputation. As far as he was concerned there was too much violence in the world, too much suffering. Laughter and comedy were needed, and as long as they were around, he knew that the Looney Tunes would answer the call, in one way or another.

Julie turned to Daffy, handing him a script, it was titled Dodger's Revenge. Daffy stared at it, combing through every page until he got to the end. He pulled out a pen and circled the final page before handing it to Marvin, who read it aloud.

"Dodgers shoots K-9, K-9 falls over and dies. Marvin shoots Dodgers and misses, Dodger shoots Marvin and hits in Marvin the chest. Marvin falls over face down and dies."

Marvin turns towards Julie and hands the script to her.

"I won't do it" Marvin declared, "I can't."

Julie leaned in and spat in Marvin's face, who immediately jumped back, his germophobia kicking in. K-9 growled and stepped between them.

"That ain't goanna fly sister" K-9 exclaimed, spitting himself, "No one does that to Marvin."

Julie laughed and pulled out a contract, at the bottom of which were Daffy, Marvin, ad K-9's signatures.

"That gives you no right to hit us" K-9 continued, "All that contract says is that we perform to the best of our ability. Trust me lady, we've done that."

Julie pointed towards the set. Daffy and Marvin, still disgusted and attempting to clean himself, made their way towards the stage. K-9 growled, barring his teeth at Julie threateningly, he wanted to tell her off, and do a few things more, but then he would be a hypocrite which was something that he hated, so he left it alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Warner Brothers Studios, Looney Tunes

Life Lessons

The only employees of the studio besides Bob and Ted Warner, the owners of the company, were ironically the Looney Tunes themselves. For the most part, they did the workload of actor and animator, drawing the cells and landscapes and then putting themselves inside of them. It was thankless work and tiring, but it was work.

Bugs Bunny sat at his desk staring at a blank piece of paper surrounded by pencils, pens and a single ruler. The desk lamp was starting to burn a hole through the wood, the small droning sound of the lamp increasing with time and getting on the rabbit's nerves. His eyes were bloodshot red from lack of sleep, his fur was ragged and his teeth were cracked and yellowed, for he hadn't been home in days and was on the verge of going insane. Picking up the pencil he had been using and bringing it to the paper for what would have been the 156th time that night Bugs begged the pencil to draw. With a shaking hand, making scribblings as a result, the rabbit burst into tears and slammed his head on the desk, discarding the pencil, throwing it in the corner of the room in shame and disappointment.

"Why can't I do it?" Bugs asked, talking to himself, "How do they expect us to do this?"

Out of the corner of the room by a large window came the faint glow of a smartphone, giving off just enough light to reveal Wile E. Coyote, who was also staying late. The coyote was, for better or worse, healthy as far as coyotes were concerned. At the very least he was fed, which given his history of starvation, was a step in the right direction. His claws were trimmed and his teeth were filed; his left ear had been fixed off the chip it had received and his defeated glare was replaced with a look of interest and confidence.

"What are you doing here Wile E.?" Bugs asked curiously, "Shouldn't you be at home? Your wife must be worried sick about you."

Wile E. nodded in partial agreement, for earlier that evening his wife did call asking about him, wondering if he was alright. The coyote spent almost an hour on the phone, his ears attentive and sharp, ready for whatever she had to say.

"Is the great Bugs Bunny worried about me?" Wile E. asked, half sarcastic and half joking, pocketing the phone, "And here I was thinking you didn't care."

Bugs huffed, catching Wile E.'s sarcasm and rolled his eyes. The coyote laughed in turn and shook it off.

"Everything's fine between us" Wile E. continued, "Catherine and me, we're great. Trying to make something of ourselves, bring a few more coyotes in the world. You know how it goes."

Bugs sighed and shook his head, for he had no idea how such things went and even if he did there was no chance in the world he would discuss them with Wile E. Coyote. Standing up from his desk, giving up for the night, Bugs, dragging his feet across the floor, made his way towards the door. Wile E., interested if only because Bugs was the only other person in the building, casually followed, grabbing his coat from the coatrack on the way out.

The parking lot was dark, there was little in the way of lighting, the building having gone into a slight state of disrepair. Bugs' walk was quick and unevenly paced, Wile E.'s in contrast, was slow and mindful, as if everything was right in the world.

"You can't do it alone you know" Wile E. declared, picking up his pace in order to catch up, draping his coat over his shoulder.

Bugs stopped and turned around, his eyes full of pain and confusion, two emotions that Wile E. knew and understood.

"Why are you here Wile E.?" Bugs asked, his voice quiet and barely audible, "What business do you have, being in a place like this?"

Wile E. smiled and gently placed his hand on the rabbit's shoulder.

"What kind of question is that Bugs?" Wile E. replied, answering with a question of his own, "My business is our business. As for the reason, consider this, why does anyone do anything?"

Bugs was not looking for philosophy or wisdom. He did not need the consoler or the professor, he needed a friend who listened without judgement. Normally he would've gone to Daffy, for he knew him best, but since he was currently unavailable, having moved to Connecticut, the rabbit had little choice but to confide in the coyote.

"How long do you think we'll last?" Bugs began, curiosity and hopelessness clearly showing in his voice, "We've been doing this for so long. Can we even do anything else?"

Wile E. said nothing and shrugged. As far as he was concerned he had little to worry about, for he had his consoling office and his part-time professorship to keep him steady for years, not to mention his wife, who worked as an editor for the local newspaper.

"No one is meant to do one thing forever" Wile E. answered, "Change is inevitable. It comes with time. The only question to ask is what to do when it comes."

Bugs nodded, for he could not deny Wile E.'s words and the truth they held within them, still it did little to comfort him. It was then that the rabbit found Wile E.'s arm draped over his shoulder. He turned towards the coyote to find a worried yet warm look on his face, the face of someone who had devoted their undivided attention.

"Nothing is that simple Wile E." Bugs exclaimed, "I'm not like you. This is all I know."

Wile E. shook his head in disagreement, refusing to believe that Bugs, the staple of Warner Brothers, was reduced to one thing. He believed, like all good people do, potential lay in more than just ability to do a job. It was intrusive to one's being, something that, no matter how hard other people tried, was impossible to take away.

"Not true" Wile E. retorted, "You are more than one thing Bugs Bunny. It's a job not your life. You live it regardless if you get a paycheck or not."

Bugs laughed, he wished that he had Wile E.'s optimism, or at the very least his worldview. He wondered what it must be like, to have everything that you ever wanted, for despite his mansion that he rarely stayed in and the car that he never drove, Bugs had nothing that he would consider comforts, all of his friends: Daffy, Elmer, Yosemite Sam, Speedy, and Porky had moved on, each of them going their separate ways and living their lives to the best of their ability.

"It must be great to be you Wile E." Bugs replied, pitying himself, "You always have all the answers."

Wile E. casually broke away as Bugs continued making his way towards his car. As Wile E. watched Bugs reach for his keys and open the driver's side door he could only think about all the times that he didn't have all the answers.

"And being you wasn't enough?" Wile E. asked rhetorically. Turning away and walking towards the sidewalk, on which was a bus stop that would take him five blocks from his apartment, Wile E. thought about what his wife was doing, if she was asleep or if she stayed up, and if she was up if she was watching TV or sitting on the couch and worrying. He hoped that it was the former, for he hated to have Catherine worry.

Sitting in his car and secretly hating himself, Bugs Bunny debated whether or not he should get out or stay where he was. Part of him wanted to put his key in the ignition and drive off, leaving Wile E. on the corner for the bus that would not appear for another twenty minutes. Another part of him wanted to offer Wile E. a ride even though it was several minutes out of his way, and a third part wanted to do nothing, perfectly content with staying the night inside the car. After a few minutes of contemplation and finding that Wile E. was still at the bus stop, Bugs relented and stepped out of his car.

Walking towards the bus stop, Bugs found that Wile E. was once again on his phone, texting. The street light that was above them casually flickered in the darkness, the blub in need of replacing; like the lamp in the office, a slight droning noise emitted from the light causing a slight annoyance in Bugs' ears, for they were sensitive and thus constantly in pain.

"What's up doc?" Bugs asked, trying to ease his way into a conversation at the same time dropping his signature catchphrase.

Wile E. huffed and shook his head, amazed at Bugs' pathetic display.

"We're not in one of your cartoons Bugs" Wile E. defended, "And I'm not Elmer, so don't give me that 'What's up doc?' crap."

Bugs shrugged and immediately put his hands at his side, swinging them awkwardly side-to-side as if he was thinking of conversation topics. Wile E. meanwhile, continued to text, virtually ignoring Bugs and his attempts. Glancing over and seeing that Wile E. was occupied, Bugs switched tactics, resulting to whistling "How Do You Do?", the only song that he thought appropriate for the situation. After a few seconds of whistling Wile E., in response, pocketed his phone and let out a long and heavy sigh as he looked down the road, searching the bus, periodically checking his watch.

"It's getting late" Wile E. said, mostly talking to himself, "She's going to kill me."

Turning towards the bus stop and getting under the awning, Wile E. sat on the small, wet, and cold bench with relative indifference as he nervously began going over a proper apology in his head. Bugs, stifling his laughter at his own ridiculousness, turned towards Wile E., maintaining his whistling, at this point his only goal annoying the coyote.

Wile E. glared at Bugs and rolled his eyes, he couldn't believe that he was resorting to such childish behavior when all that really needed to be done was to talk to him like a normal human being, physical appearances aside.

"Do you mind?" Wile E. said, on the verge of going insane, "Some of us are trying to sit in peace!"

Bugs laughed, this time holding nothing back and gently extended his hand.

"So you do acknowledge me" Bugs exclaimed, "I always knew you had it in yah-"

Wile E. huffed and shook his head, peering down the street once again, still looking for the bus.

"You can stop trying now" Wile E. said, still shutting him out, "You don't care about me. You never have, why start now?"

Bugs fell silent, he wasn't entirely sure what to say or if he should anything at all. He never thought about Wile E. Coyote as being a sentimentalist, but then again he didn't think about him becoming a professor or a counselor, and yet he was both; and he was the last person on the face of the earth he would expect to get married.

"Wile E." Bugs began, awkwardly, "I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologize" Wile E. replied, immediately cutting him off, "Never apologize for something you meant. It is beneath you."

The bus pulled up moments later, causing them both to stand. As Wile E. emerged from the underneath the awning he turned to Bugs and sighed.

"Thank you for listening" Wile E. said as he extended his hand, apologizing for the sake of apologizing, despite the fact that it was not necessary; "Not many would care to sit next to a coyote and talk, much less try and humor them."

Bugs shook this off, for he knew that Wile E. had no right to say such things, that in reality it was he who should be thanking him.

"Don't mention it doc" Bugs returned, "We're Looney Tunes remember?"

Wile E. stopped and nodded, hanging his head in disappointment. He had hoped that Bugs would see that it was more than just being Looney Tunes or working at Warner Brothers that connected them, that it was a common state of empathy and understanding.

"Yes we are" Wile E. answered as he walked towards the bus, "But haven't you ever wanted to be something more?"

With this Wile E. Coyote stepped onto the bus and sat down, leaving Bugs standing beside himself on the corner. It was then that his phone buzzed, a text message. It was from Ted, it read: "You're fired" it was then followed by long apology that would've been better served for an email. The rabbit could only laugh to himself as he thought about how convenient the situation was; especially given Wile E.'s words. As he reached his car and exited the parking lot, Bugs' first thought turned to Lola; at the time he wasn't exactly sure why, it was only later, when he reached his two story mansion on the outskirts of the city did he realize that it was the beginning of an idea. Ten minutes before he would retire to bed, Bugs picked up the phone and began making calls.


	4. Chapter 4

Walt Disney Studios, Chip and Dale Rescue Rangers

Morning

It was a crisp spring morning in early March. It was exactly the type of morning that someone would want to sleep through, but being a weekday, it was impossible for everyone. As Chip woke up from a restless sleep, he stepped lazily outside of his tree to examine what the day was going to be like. He barely got a foot outside when he retreated, only to return with his jacket and fedora, his feet bare, completely defeating the purpose of retreating in the first place.

Climbing down the tree, Chip looked around the small community park, taking in the sights and sounds of the nearby neighborhood. The sound of a car, several actually, as their respective owners went in to their respective 9 to 5 jobs. A blue house that sat on the edge of the park, the beginning of the neighborhood. Chip knew the house, recognized its white trim around the edges and windows, the distinct and fashionable yet completely lacking in function sailor hat on the roof, the signature of Donald Duck. Across the street from this blue house was an equally recognizable yellow house with red trim, the color alone the giveaway trademark of Mickey Mouse.

As Chip looked at the houses, taking specific note of their size, for it was considerable, at least for him when compared to his tree, he thought about the possibility of ever living in such a house. He knew from past experience that Donald hated him from the beginning and would immediately try to eliminate him, so that possibility was out. Mickey was hospitable, it was his dog, Pluto, which was the problem.

 _"Some things are for the best"_ Chip thought to himself, _"Maybe one day, I can have what others have. Until then, I'll just carry on."_

Chip, with all the calmness and confidence in the world, entered the neighborhood, deciding that he had had enough of the park and the tree and that the office work could wait for another day. Walking on Donald's side of the street, to avoid the risk of Pluto as much as possible, Chip constantly thought about how many people had given him no notice and had forgotten completely about his existence, for not only did he pass Donald and Mickey's houses without incident, the people he did pass, said absolutely nothing. No salutations or good mornings, not even a passing glance. He was completely and totally invisible, and for the moment at least, he didn't care, in fact he actually liked it.

 _"These people have no idea what they've allowed themselves to do"_ Chip began once again, thinking in his head, _"If I can slip past their radar without a problem, think about what a burglar, a murderer, or a thief would be able to do."_

Reaching the end of the street, Chip looked left and right, more streets and more houses. Straight ahead was the beginning of the business district with Oswald's laundromat, Goofy's Candy Company, and ParrotGlass, the ophthalmologist and glasses place, run by resident parrots José Carioca and Iago the Parrot. Chip often thought about scheduling an appointment, in part because he needed one, and also to see José's and Iago's clashing personalities. Why they decided to go into business together at all was a mystery even to Chip, but it was one that personally, he was willing to leave unsolved.

Chip crossed the street, headed towards Goofy's Candy Company. Reaching the shop, Chip looked up at the storefront window, remembering the last time he was here, in this exact spot.

It was three years ago, the last time Chip stepped inside Goofy's Candy Company. It was a rare occasion that Chip be around candy, for he detested it, seeing it as childish and foolish. However, on this particular day, Chip made an important exception. Browsing the various counters stocked with fangdoddles, whatchamacallits, and thingamajigs, Chip scanned and scanned for the biggest basket of chocolate he could find. Upon finding it, and realizing that it would cost most of last month's savings, Chip was half tempted to turn around and leave it. But then he remembered his brother Dale, the reason he was there, and how today was an occasion among occasions, for today he officially became an adult.

Going against his own principles, for Chip believed that the gesture alone was enough cause for Dale to have a relapse, Chip bought the massive basket and began the tedious and troublesome walk down the street to his tree.

The sound of a car horn brought Chip out of himself and back to reality. Shaking his head Chip moved on, deciding against his better judgment to walk inside the store and buy something.

Chip eventually found himself at the other end of the street. Across the main thoroughfare was a second neighborhood. Somewhere in this mess of houses he knew, lived Goofy, Pete, and Horace Horsecollar, but he had never been to their houses before. Another mystery for another day. Chip made a right, heading towards Minnie's flower and boutique shop, Beautiful Things. As he walked his thoughts turned away from Dale and instead focused almost entirely on Gadget.

Chip's relationship with Gadget was a difficult one, in part because of the competition with Dale, and in part because when it came to women, or talking to people in general, Chip was inferior, especially when compared to Dale. A natural introvert, Chip tried and failed numerous times to convince Gadget of his feelings, he had tried every trick in the book- flowers, jewelry, and chocolate. He tried poetry, going through the great lovers- John Donne, Shakespeare, Tennyson, and Hemmingway. When material objects and poetry failed, Chip thought about being himself. So he did nothing, allowing the moment to come to him.

The moment came too late, for by the time the Rescuer Rangers had run its course, Gadget was already gone, on an airplane to some far off place that he never got the name of to be with some guy he never heard of. Chip did nothing to stop it, letting his emotions fester and boil in silence and agony. Never once did he openly declare his intentions, the poetry having been practiced alone in his room, the chocolate eaten by Dale before he could give it, the flowers not being the right color or dying prematurely and the jewelry being of so low quality that they weren't even worth pawning.

Reaching the flower shop Chip walked in and browsed the various selections of bouquets and individual flowers, ignoring the derby and Sunday hats that made of half the store.

"Can I help you with something?" Minnie asked as she emerged from behind the counter, a pencil and notepad in her hand, for she was in the middle of inventory.

Chip shook his head, saying nothing and continued to look around. He began to walk among the wreaths and decorative garlands.

"How've you been Chip?" Minnie continued, showing concern, for the chipmunk was usually more talkative.

Chip shrugged as an answer and adjusted his fedora. He had no interest in interacting with anyone, preferring invisibility and anonymity. The chipmunk, upon seeing nothing worth buying, walked towards the counter and jumped up, patiently tapping his foot and looking aimlessly around the counter for the inventory book.

Minnie, curiosity getting the better of her, made her way back to the counter and smiled. Casually she rested her hand on her cheek, her elbow settling next to the cash register.

"I think you look so cute with that little jacket and fedora, like a little Indiana Jones."

Chip rolled his eyes, insulted and annoyed at the same time, for not only was that exactly the point, but Minnie's sudden investment in him was preventing from looking at the inventory. Of course, in his head, he knew that there was no way that Minnie could have known that was what he wanted to do, so Chip reluctantly, got out of his mind and began putting his mouth to use.

"Look sweetheart I'm kind of in a hurry. I don't have time for this, just get me a small wreath with blue flowers and I'll be on my way."

Minnie pulled out the inventory book from underneath the counter and began searching for wreath and flower types.

"I have violets, petunias, thistles, Colorado-"

Chip cut her off, for not only was she wasting his time, her voice was getting on her nerves. It was bad enough that he had to break his silence, but it was even worse when he was stuck talking to a shrill and irritating mouse who asked too many personal questions that he had no intention of answering.

"Roses!" Chip screamed, "Do you have any roses?"

Minnie raised her eyebrows curiously, for as far as she knew there was no rose in existence that was blue.

"But there aren't any blue roses" Minnie explained, "There are white roses, they're quite pretty."

Chip shook his head and handed her a fifty-dollar bill, way too much money for the wreath.

"Anything to end this conversation" Chip barked.

Minnie snatched the bill from Chip's hands, threw it in the register and slammed the cash drawer closed. She was insulted and hurt beyond measure, for the only thing she was trying to be was friendly. Pulling out a small wreath, just big enough to be a ring on her finger, Minnie handed it Chip and then unceremoniously pushed him off the counter and kicked him out of the store and onto the sidewalk.

As the shop door slammed behind him Chip inspected the wreath, save for the color it was perfect. Chip knew that Minnie had taken considerable care in constructing it, for not only was it perfect, but it was inscribed, as if it was intended for his exact purpose. It was then that Chip burst into tears, not caring who heard or saw him in this defeated and lowly state. For the first time in his life, he never felt more alone.

On a small hill outside of town is a cemetery, in this cemetery is a large hill on which is a large oak tree. Underneath this oak tree is a small and seemingly insignificant headstone. Standing in front of the headstone, Chip looked up, staring at the branches and noticing the small platform, the remains of a porch, on the lowest branch. He found it fitting that Dale would be underneath their childhood home, for they had talked about it for hours on end, where they would want to be when they died. Chip, who hated the thought of being in the ground, opted for cremation when his time came, and for his ashes to be split into thirds and spread among this tree, the old Rescue Rangers headquarters, and the rest to be given to the wind.

After setting the wreath on Dale's headstone, Chip climbed the old oak tree, if nothing else to see what the view was like. Passing the platform and heading for the tree's canopy, Chip thought about how many times he had climbed up and down this tree, and how little he thought of the world beyond, or even if there was such a thing as a world beyond. Chip liked to believe that there was, but his brain, the logical part, told him that the possibility of a spirit world was unlikely, for there was too much pain, too much heartache, too much despair that existed for a place devoid of all suffering to make anything in the way of sense.

Five minutes later Chip was resting on the highest branch of the oak tree looking out at the sprawling neighborhood and the outlying woods. As the sun rose to high noon, the birds in the trees began singing their last morning songs. Chip could see a few cars, most likely workers heading to lunch. Taking off his fedora and casually fanning himself Chip began singing the happy birthday song dedicating it to Dale. As tears ran down his face, Chip smiled, for the sun, either out of convenience or through the answering of an unintentional prayer, came down on him in those few moments. It didn't take a genius or even a spiritual person to understand that to Chip, that simple ray of sunlight was much more, and that at least for a moment, the constant feeling of loneliness was replaced, not with joy or happiness, but with peace.


	5. Chapter 5

Walt Disney Studios, Chip and Dale Rescue Rangers

Afternoon

Walking out of the cemetery Chip, his head cast down deep in thought, his eyes shifting as his brain contemplated the meaning of the sunlight that had washed over him, made his way towards Grover's Lot, a third neighborhood behind the graveyard that was the home of the lesser denizens of the Disney community.

As he made his way around the graveyard, heading for the low income houses, Chip wondered why there wasn't a single police station to be found for the three connected communities that jointly made up what was known as Toon Town. There was Horace's detective agency, but that was hardly a substitute for a police station with competent officers, jail cells to accommodate prisoners, and an actual justice system. Chip knew that the Rescue Rangers didn't technically count as a police force either, since they were more on the lines of cooperation conspiracies, small time jewel thievery, or other isolated incidents that warranted the use of private investigators. Never once did Chip, or Dale for that matter, tackle anything in relation to traffic, homicide, burglary, arson, or high profile vice cases like that of a police force, and this fact made Chip both sad and inferior.

By the time Chip made it to the neighborhood he had seen three stop signs, all with graffiti, two broken street lights, and four street corner drug dealers. He had half a mind to arrest them and take them to headquarters, but then he remembered that technically he was retired, that headquarters no longer existed, and that, when he had work, he only dealt with the local official businesses, so there was really nothing Chip could about it. Crossing the street, Chip went to the closest door from the corner and knocked.

The door opened revealing a half dressed Basil, formerly of Baker Street. He was a bathrobe and nothing else, for unlike most mice, Basil did not believe in a humanized mouse community, and so, did not believe in clothes, especially when it came to pants. Chip did not mind this, not because he had a similar philosophy, but because he simply lacked the need due to his respective universe.

"Chip old boy!" Basil said excitedly, "How are things in the well-to-do? Good I hope?"

Chip shrugged, "They're as good as they can be Basil. Not perfect, but not great."

"I understand" Basil continued, "Please come in, come in!"

The living room was easily the dirtiest place Chip had been in, which was saying something considering Dale, who had bad cleaning habits. Food and random garbage was scattered everywhere, the couch completely invisible, instead taking up the space was a mountain of never-ending dirty clothes. Chip wondered why Basil even bothered to ask him inside with the house in such a state, but then he remembered where he was and that no matter which house he had knocked on, he would have been in similar circumstances.

"I see you wasted no time cleaning up for me" Chip declared knowingly, "I don't think I've ever seen that couch."

Basil laughed.

"Try me boy" he said, "It's there. I reached it a couple times, but the mountain always comes back and it's always bigger."

Chip was amazed that Basil lived alone with the mountain of clothes that were never washed. One would think that Basil had forty-five kids living with him and he was simply falling behind on laundry and housekeeping, but sadly, this was not the case. At the same time Chip was not surprised either, for Basil rarely, if ever, and only then for food, left the house, much preferring the quietness and solitude of his basement, in which he kept his lab.

Walking through the kitchen stopping at the door to the basement, Basil stared curiously at Chip, taking off the chipmunk's fedora and inspecting it.

"You're still wearing this thing Indy?" Basil asked, "Every time I see you it's always in that hat and jacket, do you not have a wardrobe?"

Chip huffed and snatched his fedora back, placing it on his head with a firm hand.

"I like it" Chip defended, "It reminds of who I am. Who knows, I might start the Rangers up again."

Basil shook his head pitifully and sighed, for if there was one thing Chip went constantly on about, when he decided to talk to people, it was the possibility of restarting the Rescue Rangers agency.

"Not with that rubbish again Indy" Basil exclaimed, slapping his face with his paw in annoyance, "You've been go about that ever since Dale passed, let it go, it's not going to happen."

"Just like you never cleaning house is going to happen?" Chip answered sarcastically, "Seriously either get a maid to help or throw this shit out before someone files a complaint."

Basil rolled his eyes and groaned, for he hated it when legalities were brought into situations, it made things more complicated than they needed to be.

"Here we go again" Basil said, shouting as he opened the basement door and turned on the lights, "I told you I fired that wench because she insulted my work, what's so hard to understand about that?"

Chip stopped on his way down, Basil's statement reminded him of Gadget. The way she walked in the moonlight; how she danced to music; her smile, which never seemed to fade; and especially the way she said Indy, as if her very voice was made of honeycomb and sugar.

"Watch your words Basil" Chip said warningly, "Remember, 95% of the time you find that you're the problem."

Basil raised his eyebrows and huffed, "I'm the one with the problem?" he said exasperating, "If you would have seen this woman you would have thought the same Indy. On top of that she was a whore, she would bring some bloke over wanting to pork in the bloody kitchen! Do you have any idea what that's like?"

Chip shook his head and made his way towards the top of the staircase.

"Why should you care what your help does in her spare time when you can barely keep a respectable house?" Chip asked as he straightened his jacket, "Maybe if you spent more time with people and less on your own you'd see yourself a little better Basil."

Basil moved a few steps up, concern and slightly hurt by Chip's words.

"What are you saying?" Basil asked, "That I'm different? That I'm special because I'm not like everybody else?"

"I'm saying you're pathetic Basil" Chip replied bluntly, "Call the agency, get yourself a housekeeper and change your goddamn attitude, just because they leave you doesn't make them bitches, whores, wenches, skanks, or whatever derogatory sexist term you want to use to describe them. It makes them smart, something that you used to be."

Chip made his way to the front door, Basil made his way up the stairs, running after him.

"Come on Indy" Basil exclaimed, "Don't do this."

Basil walked over to the kitchen counter, returning with a cup of tea.

"Look" Basil said with a hint of desperation, "I made tea!"

The front door slammed shut, the house grew silent. The air became rank and stale. Basil sighed, and then, for no reason at all, he cried.

Leaving Basil's house, Chip made his way down the street, further into the neighborhood. He didn't really have a particular destination, only that he move somewhere where things made sense. Stopping on the next street corner, Chip looked left and right for about the hundredth time that day he saw something that he never thought he would see.

Across the street was Scrooge McDuck. He was dressed in a plaid blue button up shirt and decent blue jeans, in his hands was a New International Bible, it was worn, the pages dog eared and faded slightly from the sun, but still legible. Scrooge sat on a relatively high bar stool and began to read aloud the Word as if he were giving a great sermon to an attentive congregation. The street, save for Chip, was empty and seemingly devoid of life for on one in the neighborhood bothered with work, and if they did, they were night shift, minimum wage workers, and were most likely sleeping.

 _"Nice try Scrooge"_ Chip thought to himself, _"But you're not fooling anyone, everyone knows that God is just a waste of time, a figment of imagination that people use to answer complicated questions in good times and something to blame for their woes when things get rough. Give it up."_

Chip slowly crossed the street, avoiding Scrooge and his preaching, for he had no wish to receive a lecture on faith or the afterlife, the only thing that Chip was seeking was the anonymity he had earlier, as if the sun overhead had somehow made him visible to the world and the world visible to him in turn. Chip thought about things that he didn't normally think about, he thought about his life and where it would go from here, if he would ever settle down, if he would ever have a stable job, if he would ever find happiness, or if lacking these things, if he would die, and in the event, if it would be quiet unnoticeable, and remembered or a spectacle to be seen and quickly forgotten about.

 _"Our lives in many ways are like fireworks"_ Chip continued, still thinking, _"We are here for only a few moments, and in those few moments we experience everything there is to experience. We find happiness, love, we believe, and then for no particular reason at all, we die, our lives nothing but a spectacle for other people's amusement."_

Eventually Chip found himself inside a biker bar on the outskirts of town. It was a place for the rough, tough, and deviant, the outlaws and the vagabonds. A perfect place for vigilantes and aspiring heroes to have a moment of clarity, to develop a backstory, or simply to have an angst filled night of alcohol without being judged. It was the kind of bar for people who believed that life was perhaps the shittiest deal one could get and upon finding that there was nothing better, settled for what they could.

The bartender of the establishment was Pete. He was smoking a cigar, his teeth were stained due to a lack of dental hygiene. He was wearing suspenders with no shirt, a mustard stain on his chest that didn't bother to clean was clearly visible, the faint orange light above the bar making it more noticeable than it would have been otherwise. Walking up to the bar and clambering up to the bar stool, Chip looked around casually and rapped on the bar, catching Pete's attention.

"What can I do for yah?" Pete asked, resting his right arm on the counter as he wiped his forehead with a bar rag.

"Give me something that will make me forgot what day it is" Chip replied.

Pete raised his eyebrows and laughed, glancing towards the clock on the wall.

"Sorry Dale" Pete declared, "I can't sell hard liquor 'til six."

Chip shook his head. Taking off his fedora and setting it on the counter Chip glared at Pete, giving him the death stare.

"What?" Pete asked, confused by Chip's behavior.

Chip jumped on the counter and grabbed Pete's collar, bringing him down to his level, he then spat in his face.

"I'm Chip" Chip said, gritting his teeth, "Dale's dead remember? Or have you forgotten like everybody else?"

Pete calmly grabbed Chip and pulled him off, setting him back on his stool. Pete then walked over to the other side of the bar and reached down, pulling out a bottle of Maker's Mark, it was in a vintage bottle and, as a result, unopened. Without a second thought Pete opened the bottle, poured a full shot glass and handed it to Chip.

"To Dale" Pete declared, "May he find rest, wherever he is."

Chip nodded and took the first shot, which was the equivalent of half a standard glass in proportion to his size. Staggering a bit and shaking his head, Chip held up his hand, motioning for another one. Pete sighed, took the shot glass, and refilled it.

"How's Gadget?" Pete asked, trying to make conversation despite asking all the wrong questions, "Have you talked to her lately?"

Chip shook his head in disagreement.

"I haven't seen her since the Rangers disbanded" Chip answered, "I hope wherever she is she's happy. Someone has to be, might as well be her."

Pete laughed, "What makes you say that?" he continued, "Are you unhappy?"

Chip downed the second shot and let out a slight burp. He didn't really want to answer Pete's question, for the answer was obvious and didn't need to be explained. Chip pulled out what money he had, which wasn't much, and jumped off the stool. Without another word, Chip made his way towards the door into the afternoon sun, he didn't really know where he was going and he didn't really care, the only thing he knew was that he couldn't be in one place for long, he had to keep moving, somewhere, anywhere, but where he was.


	6. Chapter 6

Walt Disney Studios

Black, White and Read All Over

Pete woke up surrounded by stacks of newspapers, discarded clothes and used tissues. The bedroom, which was relatively small in comparison to Pete's size and the rest of the house, which was nothing more than a glorified shack resting on the old wharf on the shore of Lake Victorious, was dirty and in need of serious repair; the walls and ceiling slowly falling apart as if they were shedding, but inside of new skin, only seemed to get progressively worse. Sitting up Pete groaned as he scratched his stomach lazily, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep the day away. Looking around only gave him more justification to do nothing, it made little difference if he cleaned for eventually he would be drunk enough to mess it all up again. Standing up from his bed and stretching out his limbs to their full extent, Pete habitually he looked himself over in the cracked mirror that sat on the broken dresser directly across from the bed and saw what he believed himself to be. What he saw was a fat, disgusting mess- a thing that was so horrible there was not a proper name for it in any language. He saw nothing of particular interest as he haphazardly patted his belly, hating himself as he saw it ripple in response.

 _"Day 1 of new life"_ Pete said to himself, making notes in his head, _"Take your pills, pay your bills and start that workout routine. Respect comes later."_

Turning to his left towards the small window that faced the shore and a docked Steamboat Willie, Pete shook his head sadly, remembering when things were simpler, when he lived in an actual house instead of a rundown shack, when he was respected by all and feared by none, when he used to be someone important. Now, he was little more than nothing, barely a blimp on the radar of most people. It was a sad existence to lead.

As Pete let out a loud yawn and casually cracked his knuckles he laughed to himself as he realized that he was completely naked. Drawing the blinds to hide himself from the world Pete began to search for a pair of underwear amid the chaos that was his room, banging his knees against the small night table at the same time. Getting on the bed Pete crawled his way to the other side, pushing over a large stack of newspapers that blocked the closet entrance only to face a pile of laundry that was both clean and dirty mixed together. A small gathering of flies was hovering it as if they were meeting for an early breakfast, an appalling and rather sickening sight. Pete swatted the flies away, reached his hand in and dug until he hit the floor, pulling out what he assumed to be the last pair of clean underwear that he had. Without even so much as inspecting it Pete put them on, only to discover too late that the they were the exact opposite of clean, drenched in urine and skid marks from a bad night of drinking a few days before. Sighing and too tired to fish for another pair, Pete resigned himself to his fate, casually put on his overalls, among the only decent pair of clothes that he still possessed, and made his way into the kitchen.

The kitchen was even worse than the bedroom. To the left was a basic counter set complete with floor and ceiling cabinets; the countertop was made of off-white tile, the kind used in bathroom flooring, one of Pete's many home improvement jobs to give the shack at least a feeling of home. The sink, piled high with dishes to the point where using it was impossible, smelt of a dumpster that an animal had crawled into and subsequently died in. The oven and stove unit to the right of the sink was broken; it had been so for the past six weeks, Pete having relied on fishing and other means to survive without it. The floor, also made of bathroom tile, was a blue and green diamond pattern that ran from the bedroom to the end of the shack. A small circular table with four yellow chairs surrounding it was directly in the middle of the space. Pete did not know why he had four chairs, for no one ever came to visit him and if they did it was usually to scold and berate him for a situation that were beyond his control, his current standard of living being a favorite topic of discussion.

Sitting in one of the chairs not bothering to make himself breakfast despite the fact that he was hungry Pete sat by himself in reflective silence. Pete often thought about his situation; he dreamed that one day when he was out on Steamboat or perhaps in town that he would come back to nothing, the shack would be gone, swept away by a storm or destroyed in a freak accident. But sadly, his dreams were never realized for every day he returned to his shack in misery and despair. What Pete called pride, others called stubbornness. Getting fired from a longstanding career at Disney was only the beginning of his troubles: within a year he had lost all of his money that he had made due to a gambling addiction; in two years time, Pete was forced to sell his house for half its value, what money he received from the sale was quickly lost, his addiction unsolved and now including alcohol and various ladies of the night. Now, three years after Disney, Pete found himself attending AA meetings, originally part of a court order and now voluntarily doing so, for the first time taking responsibility for his actions. The damage that was already done however, was irreversible. He was stuck in a hole he had dug himself, and it was here, he thought, that he would remain. Rising from the table, completely forgetting about breakfast, Pete turned towards the door grabbing the only thing of value that he had, an acoustic guitar that he gotten at a yard sale for twenty dollars. It was the best money he ever spent on anything, the only thing in his life that had meaning that was a constant positive besides his boat.

"How's it going to end?" Pete began, talking to himself as he often did, having no real friends to speak of, "What's left, what more is there to take?"

Standing outside of his shack, Pete looked out at the fog of the lake, saying and doing nothing, simply allowing himself to exist in this single moment of time. When he was satisfied he turned left and walked down the dock to the rest of the pier, through the fog he could see a small time food establishment that faced the lake. This food vendor, which specialized in seafood, was the business of Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, one of the only people who was actually concerned with Pete and his wellbeing, the only being Oswald's brother Mickey, Pete's former crewmember and Disney cohort.

Oswald's food vendor was the type of thing that you would see in amusement parks, a rectangular building with a half of the wall facing the lake completely gone in favor of a bar and stools. Only open during the late spring, summer and early fall months, the business was more of a side job to Oswald that anything, most of his time taken up with Disney, who had recently hired him back as part of the revitalization process of the company in an effort to bring the company's focus back to its origins.

"Mornin' Pete" Oswald said warmly as he prepared Pete's usual order of hash browns, grilled salmon and eggs with a glass of orange juice, "How we doing today?"

Pete shrugged indifferently as he took a stool; there was nothing that Oswald didn't know about, for he was a creature of constant bad habits. It made little difference if Pete changed now or not at all, for he would still be seen in unfavorable black and white, never having the chance to even become a shade of grey. But Pete did not care about others' opinion of him, at least, not enough to where it affected him psychologically. The only things that Pete cared about were himself, Steamboat and his guitar, everything else, even his clothes, were secondary in his mind. Oswald set Pete's food in front of him causing him to jump out of his seat a little bit, for silence had filled the air in the time that Oswald asked his question to the delivery of the plate, resulting in Pete completely ignoring Oswald in favor of breathing for the sake of breathing.

"You know I never thought it'd come to this" Oswald exclaimed as he began cleaning off the countertop and Pete began eating, "I always thought out of all of us you'd be the one who would have everything could ever want."

Pete nodded in partial agreement, for he could say the same about many Disneys, but especially Oswald.

"I did Os" Pete answered sadly as he forked in a mouthful of salmon, "I had everything a man could ask for. A house, a job, friends, a woman who loved me, and I threw it all away. I deserve this; I deserved everything that ever happened to me. It's better if I just fade away out of everyone's lives, they'll be better for it."

Oswald shook his head in disagreement, "You've just hit a rough patch Pete, that's all. I don't like seeing you this way, it's not right, even someone with your history."

Pete huffed; he wasn't looking for sympathy or pity; just someone who would listen and not pass judgment. Although Oswald was the closest thing available, he certainly wasn't the best candidate; for there were many more willing people who would actually give Pete the time that was required. Most of them were Villains, true, being that it was Pete's social circle: Iago, Scar, Ursula, and Sher Khan, to name a few; but there were a few good Disneys who would do the same: Donald, Goofy, Basil, and Horace Horsecollar. These people were the ones that Pete considered his friends, which was a term he used in the loosest of forms.

"I've been in the same place for three years Oswald" Pete retorted, becoming more stressed as the conversation continued, "That's more than a rough patch. That's life kicking me in the teeth and dealing me the crap hand. It's the world forgetting about me, throwin' me around like I'm some cheap ragdoll not worth anyone's time."

Oswald could only sigh, for nothing else was appropriate for the situation, he followed this with a pitiful laugh, the kind that one would give when someone is so in the wrong that logic and reasoning have obviously abandoned them, self-loathing and angst replacing them and becoming the forefront of all further thoughts until they were subsided.

"You're wrong Pete" Oswald declared, "You are worth someone's time. You're worth my time. Now do me a favor and stop beating yourself up over things you can't control, there's no point in that; you'll only be killing yourself faster!"

Pete laughed heartedly at this, "Good!" he exclaimed, "The sooner I'm dead the sooner everything can get back to normal."

Oswald wanted to say that because Pete was a product of Disney and by default a toon, death was impossible however he let it pass, letting Pete believe that death was an option in an effort to make him happy. Even if he wasn't a toon Oswald would still say nothing, allowing Pete to effectively end his life in whatever way he chose, not to say that the rabbit saw suicide as acceptable but rather to allow Pete to die as he lived, on his own terms.

"I'm not going to stop you" Oswald continued, "You want to kill yourself? Fine, go ahead. Just think about the world you're leaving behind; the things that you've done; the people you've touched. Look at yourself one last time and, if you still feel the need, if you find yourself alone because you're too blind to see what's right in front you, then I give you permission to do what you will."

Pete nodded, absorbing Oswald's words and letting them sink in his brain. Finishing his meal, Pete gave a gentle wave and a smile.

"I'm not going anywhere yet" Pete said, mostly for the sake of himself, "I still got a hand to play, might as well play it till I've got nothing left."

Oswald nodded and watched Pete made his way towards town, when he was sure that Pete was out of earshot he picked up the phone and dialed Mickey's number just as the sun's ray let themselves down over the lake, stretching themselves out to their full extent as they greeted the day, promising the lake an abundance of activity and Oswald plenty of business.


	7. The Places We Go to Find Ourselves

Part Two- The Places We Go to Find Ourselves

Disney, Zootopia

In a Dirty and Dimly Lit Place, There is Solitude

Walking out of the lobby after a long day of filing paperwork and standard patrol work, newly minted police officer Nick Wilde casually got into his car and made his way home, taking the back way to avoid the main thoroughfare and the inevitable thirty minutes of sitting in traffic as the radio forced him to listen to terrible music. Halfway to his destination, on the corner of Serengeti Way and Grassland Avenue, Nick noticed a building that he had not taken the time to notice before- a bar. The only reason that he noticed it at all was because unlike most of the establishments that littered the city with their cute names and animal puns, this one was simply named "The Bar". Nick, curiosity getting the better of him, shrugged to himself and pulled into the parking lot.

The building on the outside was surprisingly in respectable condition given the circumstance that it was in an older part of town with a reputation for low income housing and high crime rates. The windows were all intact and the door was recently painted a light brown, complementing the dark brick that made the rest of the building. To the right of the door was a payphone, worn by time and frequent, drunken use. The bright neon sign that had caught Nick's attention earlier flickered slightly as one of the bulbs had begun to sputter out and eventually die. The parking lot itself was decent for a business of its size, 42 spaces in total and generally situated in a position where the traffic could flow in and out without too much hassle. As Nick exited the car and made his way to the door he recognized some of the vehicles- a large light blue truck, belonging to Jerry Jumbeaux Jr.; a medium-sized van that he knew to be Finnick's, who always seemed to be overcompensating in everything he did; and a brown sedan, the property of Mr. Emmett Otterton. At seeing the cars Nick felt incredibly uneasy, for the last thing he wanted was a bitter confrontation on the part of Finnick or a compliant from Jumbeaux; which he would have been able to deal with under normal circumstances had it not also been for Otterton, who had a habit of delivering wisdom and life advice to people who neither asked for it nor necessarily needed it.

The Bar was definitely one of the cleaner buildings in the area, in that the floors were swept occasionally and the bathroom only smelled of piss every other week. In terms of space it was rather large, which made sense in order to accommodate for the larger species, such as pachyderms; despite its relatively short length, only providing enough room for five bar stools at the bar, which served as the centerpiece of the main space. The tables were situated in order, lower numbers closer to the door and around the windows, which were along the perimeter; and higher numbers scattered across the main floor with booths in the back corner. At the moment, The Bar was currently at its busiest hour, with patrons ranging in height from the fire ant to the giraffe, and in weight from that same ant to Jumbeaux.

Nick, if nothing else to address the poor word play and in hopes of making a joke in an attempt to suppress his less than amiable mood, the past few weeks rendering him an insomniac, calmly made his way to Jumbeaux's booth in the corner of the room, at the same time taking note of the bartender, Barry Cooke, a bobcat.

"And then she threatens to throw the book at me!" Jumbeaux exclaimed, concluding to Otterton and Finnick, who were with him, "I'm telling yah, there's just no justice in the world anymore."

Otterton nodded in agreement as he took another drink of his draft, for this was the only day that he allowed himself a beer, otherwise being a regular stiff.

"It can be tough" Otterton declared, "But you shouldn't let a couple complaints get you down. After all, that's part of being in business."

Finnick, whose eyes were always shifting, never ceasing to rest for extended periods of time, even in calmer moments, glanced to his left and eyed Nick from across the room. No sooner did he see him, still dressed in his blues, did Finnick sulk and turn back to Jumbeaux. Jumbeaux, who was only half-listening to Otterton, for he was incredibly boring at times, noticed Finnick's glare and turned around with the curiosity of an intellectually starved owl.

"Well, well" Jumbeaux said as he moved to the side, allowing Nick ample room to join the table, "Look who it is; you here to give me another citation Wilde? I told you assholes that I'd clean that place up, change my practices, what more do you want?"

Nick shook his head and rolled his eyes, for it was typical of Jumbeaux to greet him in this manner, the elephant never fully forgiving him for swindling him, an understandable if slightly stubborn position.

"Nah, I just figured I'd address the only elephant in the room" Nick answered, smiling a bit as he covered for himself, taking note of the joke's weakness, "That and you're just too big to ignore Jumbeaux."

Jumbeaux huffed playfully and gestured to the open space, which Nick obliged.

"I told you Nick" Jumbeaux said, "First name basis with me, it's Jerry or it's nothing."

Otterton, who now had an official view of Nick, immediately perked up and smiled, extending his paw across the table for a handshake, which the fox graciously accepted.

"Nick Wilde, good to see you again" Otterton began, "How are things?"

Nick shrugged, deflecting Otterton, at the moment not wishing to talk about himself and instead wanting to dive into other's lives, if only for a change of pace. In reality, his life was looking up, he had a car, a nice apartment in the heart of Zootopia, and a job that he cared about. There were a few things that were missing to be sure, but as far as he was concerned those things would come in their own time in their own way; for now, it was enough to be where he was.

"You know how things are" Nick said, giving a half-assed reply, "Eating, sleeping, working, and living. Just like everybody else."

Otterton laughed and shook his head to the contrary, for he begged to differ, seeing the value in everything that was good in the world. As for the bad, the otter figured at the very least that if enough good existed, it would balance out and eventually negate it. This philosophy he had shared with both Jerry and Finnick, the former taking it with pride, and the latter a slow adopter, still holding to the ideals and the selfishness of the streets, if only because it was the only thing he knew.

"There's more to life than that Nick" Otterton said, to the point, "Much more, if you value anything. You've got a lot to be thankful for: friends, family-"

"No family" Nick corrected, slightly annoyed, "Not anymore. Besides, friends are all I need."

Otterton nodded again, respecting Nick's answer and turned to Finnick, nudging him a bit, for he had a glazed and indifferent look in his eye, suggestive of boredom.

"Come on Finnick cheer up" Otterton exclaimed, bringing him out of his haze, "You can't hold a grudge forever."

Finnick groaned and begrudgingly faced Nick, who could not help but notice Finnick's eyes. They spoke many different languages, all of the heart, and all of them equally painful, both to accept and to experience, the most overt of these was hate, followed very closely by sadness and betrayal. This was not entirely surprising, for Nick had known Finnick to be incredibly closeted with his emotions, often in the moment displaying relative indifference and nonchalance only later to spill them out, either into a beer, like he was doing presently, or in his pillow. He would never cry, Finnick being much more of a screamer, but the principle remained the same.

"You're not well acquainted with the streets are you?" Finnick declared sharply, after which he immediately turned to Nick, "Or you would know that rats ain't welcome."

Jerry grunted and tried his best to be as supportive of Nick as possible, for although he did not exactly like the fox, the elephant held nothing against him personally; seeing him as more of a nuisance than an adversary.

"Now see here Finnick" Jerry began, scolding, "Just because Nick went straight doesn't mean you get to hold his past over him like that. What you did was wrong, near deplorable. Swindling guys like me out of their hard-earned money, only to turn it around and make a quick buck."

Finnick laughed sarcastically and shook his head, for although Jerry had spoken true, the effect was minimal, almost nonexistent, coming off as a cheap and sad attempt at diplomacy.

"Give it a rest you will you?" Finnick returned, "You talk about swindling folks out of their money; your prices are ridiculous! 12 dollars for a damn popsicle! Completely outrageous. I'm doing you a favor."

Jerry, who was about to turn red in the face, was cut off by Nick, who calmly held him at bay with a firm grasp, after which the fox turned to Finnick and began to put his training to good use.

"How about this Finnick?" Nick said, putting on a slight bit of charm, hoping to defuse the situation as quickly as it had been ignited, "You either start giving my man Jerry here a cut of your profits or I have you arrested for fraud, embezzlement, tax evasion, and disruption of the peace."

Finnick folded his arms and leaned back defensively.

"You wouldn't dare" Finnick declared, stand-offish, "Not with those trump charges."

Nick shook his head and casually leaned in, displaying all the confidence that he could muster.

"Who said they were trump charges?" Nick continued, "All the shit we pulled? Not just with the popsicle racket but with the bakery operation down at Flo's. Not to mention our stint with Mr. Big before that or _anything_ in the last 20 years. The worst thing that could happen to me at this point would be a reprimand from Bogo and a slap on the wrist; but you my friend, you're looking at 20 to 30 at Howard Penitentiary easy."

Finnick sneered and spat in Nick's direction, a bit of spittle sticking to his lower lip, for he was not incredibly good with distance, and so the shot came up short by several inches, landing at the halfway point on the table. Jerry stared at the spit and resisted every urge that he had to clean it, being something of a neat freak, a habit he had developed since Nick had hustled him and Judy had called him out for negligence. To ease his mind, the elephant focused his attention on Nick and the fuse he had ironically lit.

"Nick" Jerry said somewhat indignantly, "We were having a nice time tonight 'til you showed up and made things complicated."

It was at this moment, that Manchas, who was coincidentally part of the social group that had formed among them, entered the bar. To his left was Gazelle, who was currently his charge. Manchas, sniffed the air cautiously, the experience with the Night-Howlers leaving slight mnemonic impressions in his personality. It was strange; he thought, that Gazelle, who was not popular among the lower classes, seen as an impostor, her advocacy a mere front to sell albums, would want to come to The Bar. Manchas assumed that it was yet another PR campaign in an attempt to bounce back from recent backlash or perhaps she was meeting someone who preferred to keep things on a low profile; for Gazelle did not strike Manchas as a one who publicly drank beer, or alcohol of any kind for that matter, much more akin to water or milk.

"Are you sure about this?" Manchas said, whispering and mostly being ignored, "What reason could you possibly have for being in a place like this?"

Gazelle rolled her eyes and brushed him off, refusing to answer; causing Manchas to smile and nonchalantly gesture towards the corner booth.

Jerry, who saw Manchas first, casually nudged Nick, who followed his gaze. Upon landing on the panther Nick groaned and sighed, shaking his head as he once again began to hate himself. Otterton, who by this point had spent too much of an emotional investment on Nick to consider him anything less than a friend, straightened himself out and immediately switched from his current state of mind to the confidant.

"What's so bad about what happened?" Otterton asked, noting Nick's distress, "What are you so worried about?"

Nick sighed and huffed in disbelief, as if the question was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard in his entire life.

"You do one good thing and suddenly people start treating you different" Nick answered, "They forget what you were. It's not so easy for me. How can you forget a past like that?"

Otterton smiled and nodded in understanding, knowing full well the sacrifices that Nick had made in the recent months: the swallowing of his pride and the acceptance of everything that he had been taught to be against chief among them.

"The past is a painful burden" Otterton declared, "But you have to let it go Nick; otherwise, you'll never be happy. Besides think about all the good things that came out of it."

Nick laughed futility and shook his head; failing to see the significance of Otterton's words.

"Maybe I wasn't meant to be happy" Nick retorted bluntly, "Did you ever think of that Emmett?"

Otterton nodded once more, for he had heard such things before, mostly from Manchas and Jerry, the former having been in the employment of Mr. Big, and the latter so consumed with his shop and making money that he had become cold against the world. Of course, these concerns were long behind them, Manchas holding an honest job and Jerry being respectable. It was difficult, to put it mildly, to convince them of their own self-worth as well as the worth of other people, Manchas being inexplicably violent-minded and Jerry, much like Finnick, indifferent. Otterton remembered specifically that they both shared similar opinions of him, seeing him as nothing more than an otter, who carried no weight and meant absolutely nothing.

Slinking under the table and appearing on the other side, Otterton met Nick with all the speed in the world, as if the very idea of self-pity was an insult to his ears. Placing a firm grip on Nick's shoulder, simultaneously adjusting his glasses, Otterton spoke with the paternal gentleness that he was accustomed to, in his head treating Nick as if he were his son.

"There are three ingredients to happiness: love, laughter, and faith."

Nick rolled his eyes and huffed, for it was just like Otterton to bring faith into matters such as this.

"Don't turn this into something it's not" Nick declared, "This isn't one of your self help sessions, this is my life. Best if you leave it alone. Nothing good came out of our little soriee, save for a lot of headache and a couple of broken bones."

Otterton laughed and shook his head once more, for Nick was missing one incredibly important detail when it came to the events of the past several months.

"What about Judy?" the otter exclaimed, "Surely she's-"

Nick stopped him before he could even continue with the raising of his paw.

"You assume too much Emmett" Nick returned bluntly, "Our relationship is purely professional."

Jerry huffed and rolled his eyes, begging to differ. Nick, who had forgotten that the elephant was there, an almost impossible task given his size but not so given that he had remained relatively quiet.

"Ha!" Jerry said, butting in, "If 'professionalism' includes dinner dates and dancing than you two are the most professional cops in Zootopia."

"Jerry, you even so much as say something so ridiculous as that again and I'll have you arrested" Nick declared, half joking, "So I repeat: There is nothing- absolutely nothing between Judy Hopps and myself. Do me a favor, all of you, stop making assumptions about my life. If you want to know something, ask me about it yourselves, don't spread useless gossip."

Nick rose from his chair and casually waved them off, wanting nothing more to do with their company, his only thought the solace of his bedroom, one of the only places in town where he could be himself. Otterton, who was not about to allow Nick to leave without a proper goodbye, immediately got in his path, straightening his glasses as he often did and embraced Nick as hard as he could. The fox did not really understand why it was that Otterton, who was never so upfront about displaying emotions, much preferring to keep a low profile, part of his personal philosophy akin to confidentiality agreements between doctors and their patients, had decided to take it upon himself to ensure that he did not leave until he addressed whatever issue it was that he believed was being brought to the forefront.

"Nick" Otterton pleaded, "It's okay to talk about these things. We're all friends here right?"

Jerry nodded, concurring; Finnick, who at this point wanted absolutely nothing to do with Nick Wilde and was on the verge of quitting on Otterton, sulked and retreated to the remnants of his drink, after which he stood up, placed his portion of the tip on the table and made his way towards the door without making so much as a sound.

"If this is what you call friendship I don't want a part of it" Nick declared, "Find someone else to patronize."

Without even bothering to hear Otterton's rebuttal, for he felt like he had already overstayed his welcome, Nick made his way to the door and exited the bar. It was of course, at this moment, that Manchas found his way to the booth, behind him was Gazelle, who maintained an air of curiosity; whether or not it was sincere was another issue entirely. Jerry, at Manchas' approach, gestured to Finnick's abandoned place only to be respectfully denied. Otterton, still staring at the door, could only convince himself not to cry. As Manchas made unneeded introductions and Jerry cracked a few jokes, for the elephant was quick to settle into new company Otterton casually followed the way of Nick and Finnick, paid his bill, grabbed his coat and made his way outside; after which he called his wife, told her that he loved her, and then, standing beside the payphone, cried.


	8. Chapter 8

FOX Studios, Family Guy- "Songs for the Road"

The Kids Are All Right

To Chris there were two outcomes for this trip in terms of the family: it would either bring them closer together or drive them further apart. It saddened to think about all the times that they had, everything they had experienced and been through in the short period of a few years; that it all hanged in the balance from the result of a single experience. Like Meg, Chris had thoughts on the matter, and most of them, unlike Meg, were generally optimistic, even if it was a little bit of wishful thinking on his part.

Walking into the lobby, which was nothing remarkable, Chris set down the bags he was carrying and made himself comfortable in a nearby chair. Meg, after giving Stewie to Lois, likewise did the same across from him, letting her load fall where it thought it would be comfortable and casually laid her head back, allowing her hair to feel the soft cushion, and said nothing, only sighing out of relief thankful that her sanity had made it this far.

It was then that Chris noticed a painting on the far wall. In and of itself the painting wasn't particularly remarkable, a simple portrait of a family consisting of a father, a mother, and their three children, as they sat on a beach enjoying each other company as they caught seashells, flew kites and watched the crashing waves over the nearby rocks. In the distance, a lighthouse, from which, a dark shadow, presumably the lighthouse keeper, kept watch for passing ships while seagulls flew around its rotating light as if they had inherited the traits of moths. The lower right corner of the painting was grass, the beginning of a small hill; on this hill was the family's car, on the car's hood was a blanket, tattered and worn. The opposite side of the painting was a small cliff-face that ultimately led to a series of beach houses, the summer vacation homes for the rich and generally lucky. The picture title, engraved on a small plaque in the modest wooden frame read: At the Beach. As Chris stared at the piece he imagined what it was like to be part of such a family, where vacations were normal and not necessarily big, grandiose affairs. Wiping his eyes, for he had begun to cry, the boy, for despite appearances Chris was still very much a child, smiled and began to laugh.

"How do you think we stay together Meg?" Chris asked, not really sure if the question had an answer, "I mean look at us, we're about as functional as Congress."

Meg shrugged and leaned forward, trying to keep herself awake through movement; she didn't really feel like talking however, circumstances being what they were and in an attempt to stave off the power of sleep, she gave an answer.

"We balance each other out" Meg replied, "Mom and Dad, you and me, Stewie and Brian. Package deals."

Chris shook his head immediately and sighed, his hands casually over his mouth as if by hiding it he were concealing a great truth that he wasn't ready to reveal; his eyes however, gave him away for they had a certain shine to them, in part because of the tears and in part because of the epiphany that had formed inside his head. Standing up and moving towards the front desk, Chris leaned his head into the hallway and casually noticed the signs on the walls, one of the rooms on the right and left side of the motel respectively, and one to a pool. Smiling, at the same time noticing that Stewie had woken himself up, Chris slowly began to have an idea to test his theory.

"Hey Stewie" Chris said, causing him to jump out of Lois's arms, "You wanna do something cool?"

Stewie raised his eyebrows curiously, failing to see what they could do at this time of night in a motel lobby.

"What are you on about?" Stewie asked in turn, "If it's something stupid you can just forget Chris, besides its late, what can we possibly do?"

Chris laughed and casually pointed towards the hallway sign; after which Stewie slowly began to smile, as if they had the same like-mindedness. In part they did, but not to the same degree. Casually walking over to Meg, Chris began to agitate, doing his part; while Stewie, who had a significantly easier job with Brian, began to do his.

Placing his hands behind his back and swaying back and forth nonchalantly at the same time drawing attention and suspicion to himself, Stewie tapped Brian on the shoulder, who slowly turned around and glared downwards, his eyes bloodshot red and parts of his fur in general disarray.

"Stewie?" Brian said as he wiped his eyes, yawning, "What are you doing up, I thought you were asleep?"

Stewie laughed and shook his head, "Sleep? What and miss all the fun? No, come on, you know me, I'm a night-lifer."

Brian rolled his eyes and gently rubbed his forehead in complete disbelief; he wanted nothing to do with Stewie or anyone at the moment, is brain solely focused on one thing.

"Don't you mean night-owl?" Brian corrected, annoyed beyond comprehension, "And no, before you say anything you're not a night-owl. _I'm_ a night-owl. Now please, leave me alone before I say something I'll regret."

Stewie only continued to rock back and forth on his heels, his smile increasing in width: almost devilish in nature. This, in response, made Brian uneasy causing him to raise his eyebrows and growl under his breath.

"Whatever it is you're doing stop it" Brian continued, "I don't want any part-"

Thinking as quickly as he could, Stewie, speeding the process up, resorted to physical violence. First, he grabbed the dog's eyelids and pulled down as hard as he could; immediately after which he stomped on Brian's foot and pushed him to the floor.

"Come on Chris!" Stewie said as he turned around, finding that Chris had succeeded in his task, paying keep-away with Meg's hat, "Whatever you're doing let's do it now!"

Chris nodded and motioned for Stewie to follow him, which he did, proceeding down the hallway with Meg and Brian giving chase.

Meanwhile, through all of this, Peter had just finished getting rooms situated and Lois was trying not to think. Looking around, trying to figure out what was going on, for suddenly had gotten significantly louder, Lois noticed that Brian, who was scrambling to his feet in slight pain at this point, and Meg, who was frizzled and incredibly annoyed, were both heading towards the hallway.

"Brian, what's going on?" Lois asked as they passed, trying to make sense of the situation and possibly make up for her lack of observational skills in the parenting department.

"Ask your sons!" Brian replied, screaming down the hallway, in part because of the pain and in part because of the slight blood rage that had been awakened within.

Running into the pool area, Chris and Stewie were surprised to find that it was of decent size, the deepest level being 10 feet and about half the size of a pool at the local YMCA. Why a motel in the middle of Connecticut would have a pool of this size was beyond them. maybe it served as a stopping point for tourists or maybe it was a just because the owner felt like having a pool would be a good investment and attract customers, whatever the reason the pool itself was in less than appropriate shape: the water was green and the tiles surrounding the pools were broken, some of them even making their way into the water and floating into the middle meandering aimlessly and without a clear purpose, as if pool tiles had a brain with which to think of such things to begin with.

Staring into the water and then at each other, Chris and Stewie, accepting the fact that they had gone this far in terms of the plan, nodded and patiently waited for Brian and Meg, to receive whatever fate had awaited them. No sooner did they appear however, did Chris begin the second part of his plan, the true test of his epiphany. Brian, sweating and groaning, physically not used to strenuous exercise, especially after travel, wiped his brow and readied himself. If he was being honest, for a moment that lasted for a less than a millisecond, murder had crossed his mind. It would be incredibly easy, even in his current dilapidated state for him to tackle Stewie into the pool and drown him, however, being that Brian was a dog of principle and that he loved the boy too much to cause him kind of permanent harm, he did not act on these thoughts. Meg, conversely, wanted nothing more than to retrieve her hat, and if that required beating up Chris that it what it required. In a way, she supposed, it was incredibly ironic given that not even twenty minutes before she had mentioned the edginess and mental instability of the family, posing such a strength of will and apparent grace to be considered above such behavior; but this was only a self-described behavior for deep down Meg was no better or worse than the rest of them.

"Chris" Stewie said, slightly terrified, "I've never seen Brian like this before. He's going to do something he'll regret I just know it, whatever it is you're doing it, get on with it!"

Chris nodded and subsequently threw Meg's hat into the pool, after which, the following simultaneously happened in the span of two seconds: Meg ran for Chris, who proceeded to jump into the pool; Brian went for Stewie, who was grabbed by Chris as he fell into the water, pulling him down with him. Physics being what it is, Brian and Meg, who were both bound by the laws of gravity, each entered the pool with the grace of a whale. Emerging from the surface, Chris, who held onto Stewie and thus was being attacked by both Meg and Brian, did the only thing that he could think of and kicked as hard as he could, sending them both against the wall. This however, did not stop their advances or from words being said.

"I am going to kill you Chris!" Brian screamed, redirecting his anger, not wanting to wish death on Stewie, who as far as he was concerned didn't really deserve it.

Meg lunged for Chris as soon as she had the chance, as a result, Brian, who apparently decided that there was only enough room for one of them, tackled Meg, submerging them both underwater and causing them to almost drown. Chris meanwhile, taking advantage of the situation, as well as putting Stewie first, swam to the side of the pool, allowing his brother to take hold safely of the nearby step ladder. After which, the security of Stewie assured, Chris went down underwater and retrieved both Meg and Brian, who were gasping for air and still trying to kill each other.

"Out of my way Meg" Brian said, never losing his fire, "I don't want to hurt you."

Meg huffed as she pushed herself away, trying to break of Chris's arm, which had successfully gotten them both in a bear hug.

"It's a bit late for that don't you think Brian?" Meg replied, with as much sarcasm as she would allow.

Chris, who had had enough of this constant bickering and airing of grievances, took both of them and dunked them in the water repeatedly. After the third time, they got the hint, at least to some degree and stopped flailing about as if they were drowning, which in their defense, they almost had.

"Look at us!" Chris berated as he released them, at the same time grabbing Meg's hat and flinging it across the room, landing in the hallway, "One of us does the slightest wrong and we lose our goddamn minds, start killing each other."

Hanging their heads, the numerous dunking having cleansed, at least temporarily, their rage, Meg and Brian each came to the same conclusion, one that they both already knew: they were bad people. But it was worse than just being bad people, it was that they embraced the qualities that made them bad people, and that was the greater crime.

"We can't help who we are Chris" Meg explained, trying to defend herself, "We're selfish, all of us. We take and we take but we never give back, and when we do it's only when it's convenient."

Chris shook his head, refusing to allow her to luxury of self-pity, which was reserved only for moments that required it. This was not a moment for self-pity, instead a moment for reflection and realization.

"Don't beat yourself up" Chris said, cutting her off at the same time, "You don't know any better-"

Chris casually moved over back to Stewie, if only to have him part of the conversation, for he was equally guilty.

"I mean you are a bit desperate and sad, but that's not necessarily a crime."

Brian laughed and casually flicked water in Meg's direction.

"Tying people up in your basement is a bit of stretch though" the dog quipped, "And when you broke television in the entire city."

Meg huffed and began doing a backstroke, not really caring that the water was less than sanitary.

"Like you're one to talk?" Meg retorted, "Come on, really, Brian Steele, yeah because that's such a great name. You might as well have put a big "I am douche" sign on your forehead with that one."

Brian nodded nonchalantly and then turned to Stewie, who was the next obvious choice and whom he personally knew had mountains of dirt on him. Smiling, the dog gave a knowing nod, as he allowed himself to float, at the same time giving full permission to be emotionally destroyed. Stewie, thankfully did not disappoint.

"Right then" Stewie began, with the slight clearing of hi **s** throat making himself even more pompous than usual, "What can I say about Brian? For starters, you're a self-centered, arrogant prick with no real skills or talents beyond licking your own balls which is about the only thing you've put to work in five years."

Brian chuckled to himself and rolled over, doing beginning a sidestroke.

"Come on Stewie" Brian pried, "you can do better than that. What about the time that I almost killed you?"

"Which time?" Stewie asked promptly, laughing a bit, for Brian had almost killed him too many times to count.

"Exactly" Brian continued, answering his own question and implicating himself, "I'm a cold heartless bastard compared to you people."

Chris shrugged and said nothing, he was not going to contest Brian's words, especially if they came from Brian himself. Leaning back and guessing that he was next, Chris sighed in content, thankful that the night had ended in peace.

Before any of them could continue however, Lois had entered the room, and from the looks of things, her shoulders hunched, crooked eyebrows and white knuckles, it was obvious that she was not happy.

"What the hell is going on?" Lois demanded, her voice shrill and piercing, causing everyone in the pool to stand on hair's end and dash to the sides in a desperate attempt at cover.

"Nothing Mom" Meg said, taking the initiative, "Just taking a swim."

Lois groaned and resisted the urge to punch her daughter in the face, a thought that had crossed her mind as soon as she started speaking.

"I expect this kind of behavior from Chris" Lois continued, "He doesn't know any better. But you. This is unacceptable Meg. Do you hear me? Unacceptable!"

Brian, shaking himself off in the absence of a towel, his tail partially between his legs in an attempt at showing submission, stepped forward, struggling to make direct eye contact. Fumbling with his hands as he tried to find courage, or rather, the right words, Brian gave a meek smile and a nod.

"Lois, please" Brian began, "It's not her fault, not really. It's-"

Lois raised her hand, cutting him off and causing Brian to produce a rather pitifully whine, trying to gain sympathy, both for himself and for the rest of the group. It didn't work and he knew that it didn't work, but it was still the thought that counted.

"I don't want to hear it Brian" Lois retorted, pointing towards the hallway, "You're not covering for them-"

Chris and Stewie meanwhile, made their way around the pool, their walks hurried in the event that they were called out for stalling for time. In the span of two seconds, faster than they had come up with the pool idea, they had collectively decided to reveal nothing; respecting the moment that had transpired between them.

"I am very disappointed in you" Lois continued, still focusing on Brian, her never-ending train of anger mixed with maternal responsibility and a bit of hard love at ramming speeds, "You're supposed to be the responsible one, and to think that I thought better of you."

This had gone too far for even when he was being chewed out by Stewie and Meg he knew it was in good fun, Lois however, had meant to emotionally cripple him. Chris and Stewie, in a bold move, came up to Brian and Meg's defense.

"That's not fair" Chris exclaimed, grasping Brian's shoulder with one hand, and Meg's with the other, "They weren't doing anything wrong. It was all my idea."

Brian turned towards Chris, his eyes sorrowful as he subtly shook his head, refusing to allow him to take sole responsibility. Before he could intervene and say otherwise, Lois had already taken it in, only hearing words that she wanted to hear.

"You would think of something stupid like that" Lois declared, "You're grounded Chris. In fact, you're all grounded. Now dry off and get to bed, I don't want to hear another word out of any of you until tomorrow morning, is that clear?"

Seeing that there was no point in arguing further, for that would only lead to more trouble, the four of them solemnly nodded and proceeded to show themselves out. No sooner did they enter the hallway did Lois present them with two room keys.

"Chris and Stewie you're Room 108; Meg and Brian, 109"

Meg stared at Brian, who in turn stared at her, both with looks of confusion and general uncertainty. Still, not wanting to risk bringing up the issue with Lois, they stood in stride and calmly proceeded the long walk down the hallway.

"Just promise me one thing" Brian said, bringing his voice down to a whisper, "Don't tie to me to any chairs. I've gotten enough rope burn to last a lifetime."

Meg laughed and gently ruffled the fur on top of Brian's head, which was still considerably wet.

"Deal" Meg replied, "Which side of the bed do you want?"

Brian immediately brushed the idea off, huffing a bit at the mere suggestion as if he were insulted.

"Come on Meg" Brian returned, "You know me. I sleep at the end like always."

Meg nodded, for she was well aware of Brian's sleeping habits, the dog often switching between the various rooms of the house and always taking the foot of the bed regardless if there was ample room at the top. She figured it was simple a dog thing, and she was right, but it was also a note of personal privacy. Nevertheless, it was comforting all the same and nothing more was said of the matter.


	9. Chapter 9

FOX Studios, Family Guy- "The Long Way Home"

And So They Said Goodbye

Sitting at the Drunken Clam, Chris tried not to think about Peter or Lois of what they would think about his behavior. After threatening everyone in sight with his gun, Chris resigned himself to the bar stool he was in. Across the way, he caught the unwanted attention of Ernie the Giant Chicken, who was busy watching the football game, playing a round of pool, and talking up the waitress.

Ernie stopped his game and bade his farewell to the service worker before walking over to Chris, who upon seeing him, immediately reached for his gun.

"Take it easy" Ernie said calmly, "I'm not gonna hurt you. Just wanna talk."

Chris huffed, "Yeah, how'd that work with Peter?"

Ernie laughed and took the nearest bar stool, keeping one between himself and Chris to give them both plenty of space.

"Surprisingly well towards the end" Ernie admitted, "I'm just glad we managed to settle things out before-"

Chris turned away and casually rapped on the counter, asking for another beer. Ernie raised his eyebrows curiously, surprised that Chris was old enough to drink, or at the very least, pass off as being old enough to drink.

"Your dad was a good man" Ernie continued, "Better than most, and trust me that's saying something."

Chris shook his head pitifully, for he knew exactly what Ernie was doing and was in no mood for any of it. He didn't want to comforted, he wanted to be left alone.

"How's the family Chris?" Ernie asked, still pressing "I hear Meg's still taking it hard. Brian's been working 24/7 just to keep up. What about you? How are you getting on?"

Chris said nothing and simply rapping on the counter for a drink he would never receive, for Jerome had a strict policy, one that complied with the law and not whatever feeling a patron was having. Ernie consequently, rapped twice. He was answered not with beer, but with water, for he had come alone and had no interest in getting drunk or dying on his way home. Taking a sip of his water, Ernie nonchalantly stood up and stretched before sitting back down in his place, looking intently at Chris as if he were studying him.

"What are you doing?" Chris asked, annoyed.

Ernie burped for no particular reason and shook his head, he wanted to say something but decided against it, in favor of action. Standing up, the chicken motioned for Chris to follow, who did so, more out of a desire to get whatever this was over with so that he would left alone than to actually know what was going on.

Outside Ernie walked over to his motorcycle, it was an old bike, nothing fancy, but it was enough to suit his purposes. Pulling the extra helmet from underneath the seat, Ernie tossed it to Chris and patted the bike, bidding he get on.

"You're serious?" Chris said, confused, "Where are we going?"

Ernie smiled and shook his head in disagreement as he put his own helmet on and started the bike.

A few miles outside of Quahog is the small town of Ferndale. Although an unofficial suburb of Quahog, Ferndale was well enough removed from the metro area to still retain its independence, but only slightly. Thirty minutes passed from the Calm to their final destination, an old pool hall repurposed as a house.

Walking up to the door, Ernie knocked on the door and was immediately greeted by his brother, Justin, and his nephew, Rudy.

"It's about time you showed up Ernie" Justin said welcomingly as he embraced his brother, "You're late."

Ernie laughed, for according to Justin he was always late to everything, even when he was early.

"I had to pick up a few things" Ernie explained, "I brought someone along, figured he could use it."

Ernie gestured towards Chris, who was leaning against the motorcycle, pulling out a cigarette. Justin glanced over and turned towards Rudy. He casually pointed towards the bike. Rudy nodded in understanding and made his way over.

"Hey kid" Chris said as Rudy walked up, "What are you doing here? You sure you should be out here at this time of night?"

Rudy nodded, "Please put that out" Rudy exclaimed, his voice soft and calm, "It's not good for you."

Chris huffed, "You don't tell me what to do" he continued, "Now do me a favor and get lost."

Rudy remained where he was, saying nothing and nervously shuffling his feet. He wasn't exactly sure what to do, so he did exactly what Justin and Ernie told him to do when meeting uncooperative people, be as nice as humanly possible.

"Come on mister" Rudy said, with a hint of excitement, immediately switching tactics, "This is gonna be fun."

Chris shook his head, in complete disagreement, for he doubted that anything Rudy considered fun would be equally enjoyable for him. Still, if only because Ernie was watching him like a hawk would its prey, Chris complied and followed Rudy inside.

Inside the living room was a large card table in place of the couch. Sitting at this table were Ernie's relatives- his sister Jill and her husband, Frank; his uncle Martin and his aunt Betty; his father Ernest, and his mother Pearl. All of them were sitting around swapping stories and telling jokes, while partaking in various finger foods, most of them vegetables. Ernie, Justin, Rudy, and Chris walked in just as Uncle Martin was finishing up the end of his favorite story.

"And that's how I got married"

All of them laughed, even Ernie and Justin, who had heard the story enough times to know what was going on. Martin looked up, smiling as he saw his nephews and great nephew.

"There they are!" Martin exclaimed happily, standing up and embraced the three of them, "how are my boys doin'?"

Ernie and Justin, returning the embrace.

"Great" Justin answered, "Rudy just got into the best school in the county. He's such a smart kid Martin."

Martin looked down and gently ruffled Rudy's feathers, who smiled and finally let go. Ernie, in response to Martin's question, laughed. It was the kind of laugh a person would use when not wanting to discuss a situation, the kind of laugh used to cover up pain.

"I've been better Martin" Ernie replied, "Much better."

Martin raised his eyebrows, he was about to speak when Ernie introduced Chris.

"This is Chris Griffin. I'm sure you heard about-"

Martin didn't have to hear the rest of it to understand. He nodded, turning towards Chris he gently slapped his back and gestured towards the table, bidding that he take a seat.

"There's always room for one more" Martin declared, "Come on Chris, sit with us. Don't be afraid."

Chris rolled his eyes. If there was one thing he wasn't, it was afraid. In a way he was almost insulted, the very idea of fear made Chris laugh in defiance.

"What are you saying?" Chris asked, "You saying I'm afraid of you?"

Martin shook his head, "Not at all" he continued, recovering, "Now please, sit. Eat and be merry."

"No offense but this isn't exactly what I had in mind tonight" Chris responded, completely indifferent to manners and other social norms, "All I want to do is drink, smoke and be left alone."

Ernie slowly put his hand on Chris' shoulder and led him to an empty chair, the chicken taking the one next to him. Looking around the table Ernie smiled and graciously bowed his head. One hand in Chris' and the other in Frank's, Ernie began to pray.

"Lord God, we thank you for allowing to meet here in this place, to be with family and friends. To laugh, to remember-"

Chris broke the circle and stood up, immediately making his way towards the door. Ernie watched him from the corner of his eye, curiosity taking over. He did not move and simply decided to continue praying.

"To thank and praise you. We ask that you make this place your own tonight. Enter it and fill the very walls with your presence just as you enter our hearts-"

The front door opened, Chris made his way back to the parking lot. Ernie sighed, every bone in his body wanted to follow, to understand, to make a connection, but his mind refused.

"Thank you for all that you do, all that you are, all that you have been, and all that you will be."

The table said Amen and broke off. They then stood up and made their way to the kitchen, where a large assortment of food- barbeque, ham, eggs, baked beans, green beans, and corn. Ernie grabbed himself two plates, filling them both with everything there was to have, and made his way outside.

Chris was leaning next to Ernie's motorcycle smoking a cigarette and trying to be anywhere else then where he was. Ernie appeared out of the corner of his eye, Chris rolled his eyes, for he knew, without him even saying anything that the chicken was going to give him some type of lecture or quote a famous person and apply it to the current situation.

"You could have told me that you were going to do that" Chris declared

"I take it you're not a praying man" Ernie said quickly, choosing his sentences to prevent Chris from responding before he had a chance to speak.

"Not lately" Chris answered, "Not much reason to."

Ernie laughed and shook his head in disagreement.

"You don't need a reason to pray, you either do it or you don't."

Chris huffed, "Nothing is that simple."

Ernie sighed and laughed, "Everything is that simple when you take it up with Him. He created the world, surely He can handle this."

Chris rolled his eyes, "Can He bring my Dad back? Can He bring my Mom back? Can He make me have a normal life?"

Ernie hung his head and sat the plates down on the ground, leaving them there for the insects.

"He can do many things" Ernie replied, a hint of sadness creeping in his voice, "He just sometimes chooses not to."

Chris turned around and walked away, having no interest in anything Ernie had to say. Ernie didn't even have to think twice before following him, guilt and perhaps a bit of calling, propelling him forward. As he walked, making sure to keep his distance from Chris and yet maintain line of sight, Ernie thought about all the times that he had stormed off, the times when he said things that he would never take back, the times when he thought the world was against him and suffocating the very life out of him. He thought about the times he used hate to his advantage. Mostly though, Ernie thought about his wife.

"No one is born evil Ernie" she had said to him once, "Just as no one is born alone."

Chris stopped walking after a few minutes, coming upon an empty field. Ernie knew this field and knew it well. He knew that just beyond the field, in the outlying woods, was an oak tree, and on this oak tree was a swing. He knew that seventy five steps through high grass was a lone clear spot, prefect for stargazing or picnics.

"You know this place?" Chris asked, turning around, having been aware of the chicken's presence the entire walk.

Ernie nodded, "I spent a good bit of time here."

Ernie gestured towards the clearing.

"That's where I met Nicole"

Ernie slowly walked towards the spot, Chris said and did nothing, only looking around and taking the space in. Standing in the circle Ernie looked up towards the high Moon and smiled, remembering better days long gone. Chris stared at Ernie in complete and total confusion, wondering why it was that he wasn't being scolded.

"Are you messing with me?" Chris began, raising his eyebrows as he walked forward.

Ernie laughed, guessing at what Chris was thinking before he said it. The chicken shook his head in pity and after a moment's hesitation, continued walking, heading for the oak tree.

"Hey!" Chris yelled, running to catch up, "Get back here, I'm talking to you!"

Ernie either didn't hear him, or did and was ignoring him intentionally, for he gave no response and simply continued as if Chris wasn't even there. Ernie's walk was fast paced and slightly hurried, struggling to get through the high grass of the field. Chris' run was slower and tangled, his feet catch in crab grass and rogue sticks, and a few holes from unruly moles and gophers. Eventually however, both of them made to the woods.

Chris was breathing heavily by the time he stopped, Ernie laughed a bit at this and sighed, continuing down a short path that led to the oak tree.

The oak tree was large even by oak tree standards. The bench swing that Ernie remembered was old and falling apart, the wood have been eaten by termites and destroyed by the rain and what animals passed through. The rope that was attached to the swing and to the lowest hanging branch was frayed and in need of replacement, it was a wonder that the swing remained suspended. Ernie, at the seeing the swing, shrugged and sat on a tree stump across from it.

"This is where I proposed" Ernie explained as Chris appeared from the trail, "You should have seen the place then. God's work in action."

"What is it with you?" Chris asked, annoyed, "Why are you telling me this?"

Ernie looked up towards the sky at the question, not really having an answer. He then began to cry, the tears were bittersweet. The memory and significance of the place he was sitting in combined with his life up to now the reason for them. It was not a hard cry, but it was not soft either, it was the kind of cry one made when faced with the reality that they either denied and now accepted as true, or believed and did not want to believe.

"I used to be a lot like you Chris" Ernie explained, "I was angry. I thought I was owed something just because I grew up hard and fast. My father used to be beat me just for speaking out of turn. My mother wouldn't feed me dinner, saying that we had to conserve and ration food for winter. They never told me they loved me, they still haven't. They never will."

A lightning bug flickered to Ernie's right. Ernie looked up casually, his hands folded as if in prayer.

"Nicole was the first person that meant something to me. We started out as friends, stayed that way through high school. The second I got the chance I proposed."

Chris sighed, already he was getting bored for Ernie did not answer his question or even make an attempt to answer his question. He laughed and shook his head, having an idea of where the story was going.

"Let me guess" Chris declared, "You were married two months later and lived happily until she left you for someone better looking?"

Ernie stared at Chris in confusion, his face slightly hurt at the suggestion.

"No" Ernie corrected, calming down "We were married six months later and lived happily until she died of blackhead disease."

"I'm sorry" Chris replied

Ernie stopped before he could continue and stood up.

"Don't be" Ernie said as he walked back down the trail, "She lived a good life. Made me happy."

Chris laughed and followed.

"Wouldn't you be happier if she were alive?" Chris asked

"If she were alive she would die in unimaginable pain" Ernie explained, taking his words literally, "Treatment was unavailable then and it's unavailable now. Better if she's with God, without pain, then here with me, suffering."

"That's not exactly what I meant" Chris explained, "I mean-"

Ernie turned around slightly, facing him and staring into his eyes.

"I know what you meant" Ernie retorted sharply, "Some things are the way they are simply because they are. No matter how many times you pray and how many promises you make, it's not up to you. You can promise the world and the stars and the Moon itself and still the answer will be no. It's not because it's not enough, it's because it's not the things He's asking for."

Chris said nothing more after that. He wanted to believe that Ernie's words were true, that all of this was genuine, but he couldn't help but feel that it was a trick to get him to confess and admit his feelings, as if Ernie was using himself and his own troubles to make a point. In a strange way Chris was right, but one Ernie told him otherwise. There was nothing about this that was fake, and even if it was, no one seemed to care.


	10. Chapter 10

Dreamworks- Kung Fu Panda, "The Legend of the White Crane"

The Story of the Goose and the Sawn

Climbing the steps that led to the Jade Palace, Mr. Ping, a small walking stick in hand, could only look at the enthusiastic giddiness that his son possessed as he made his ascent to the gate and smile. He knew that this was the beginning of a much larger story, one that did not likely include him; and it pained him to think that in the span of 765 steps, from the base to the summit at the gates, that he would lose everything he had come to know. Waddling as carefully as he could, if only to preserve what memories he would have, Mr. Ping began to think, and as he thought he began to worry.

"Po" Mr. Ping began, raising his voice a bit, for Po was a few steps in front of him, "Are you sure about this?"

Po nodded, "Yeah" he answered excitedly, "its goanna be great! I'll be learning from the Masters themselves. Tigress' fists, Monkey's staff of righteousness, Mantis's puncturing wound, Viper's tail slash! All of their signatures. I might even get to meet Master Shifu, this is great!"

Mr. Ping nodded carefully, measuring Po and trying to read him; he wanted to be sure that this is what he wanted. When Crane first came to him Mr. Ping thought nothing of it, taking the bird's offer as a mere visit, it was only after did he realize that he was offering Po a chance to learn kung-fu and become the very thing that Mr. Ping swore he never would be.

"This can only bring trouble" Mr. Ping said to himself, not really caring if Po heard him or not, for the time had long since passed that Po listened to his grievances when it came to kung-fu, "Kung-fu is for certain types of people. Risk-takers. Not noodle makers and their sons, especially not pandas. The day that Po becomes a kung-fu master is the day that I become a soothsayer."

Po began dancing up the stairs as if he had just won a prize for over-enthusiasm, having unhealthy obsessions, and unrealistic goals and was ignorant in that he possessed all of these things and many more that would make even Mr. Ping, who also had some knowledge of basic of kung-fu history, living in the city as well as being a former collector, seem competent.

"Po" Mr. Ping said, starting over, nervousness and fear settling in, "Just remember, if it doesn't work out you always have a place. I know it's not what you want and I'm sorry, I did my best, I just hope that you don't-"

Mr. Ping was cut off with a massive bear hug, Po having listened for a few seconds and taking in the meaning of his father's words.

"Don't worry" Po replied, "It's not like I'm going away forever. It's just one day, one session that's all. It's not like they're going to recruit me or anything."

Mr. Ping nodded, he still had his doubts of course, he did not want to air them in and leave on bad terms; but he also made no effort in hiding his discontent. Breaking away from the embrace, the goose ushered Po forward and began to walk beside him, after a few moments of silence, Mr. Ping stared at his son, his eyes hopeful and full of pride.

"You know when I first opened my noodle shop I had wanted to go into the tofu business" Mr. Ping declared, "But noodles were cheaper and easy to make."

Po chuckled to himself, for he had heard this story countless times before.

"Yeah I know" Po exclaimed, "You opened the shop, started making the noodles and then when people started coming in you didn't want to change anything because you thought that if you did they would be unhappy."

Mr. Ping smiled, laughed and shook his head, remembering the days when the line was out the door and around the block; all for cheap noodles.

"You know me too well" Mr. Ping admitted, "But there is another reason why I never went into the tofu business. At the time it seemed rather silly, maybe it still is, but there was once a time when I was young, and foolish, and arrogant and stupid, that I was in love."

Po stood beside himself, it was difficult to believe that his father, who had known to be a bit of an eccentric, as well as laughably clumsy and a general goof when he wanted to be, had once been in love. The idea was completely foreign to him, if only because he had not had a similar experience, being sheltered and naïve when it came to such matters.

"What was she like?" Po asked, half curious, but mostly humoring his father, who seemed hell bent on having the conversation.

Mr. Ping shrugged nonchalantly, partially giving his answer and not really giving it at the same time. Sighing and searching for a place to begin, Mr. Ping stopped and casually sat down on the steps, bidding Po do the same; he did so, after which the goose twiddled his feathers for a moment and swayed his feet as if he were a child, his legs being particularly short, as well as an attempt, albeit a desperate attempt, at childish humor.

"It was a long time ago you see" Mr. Ping began as he looked over the city, noticing the lush green hills and the blooming trees, "Well before you were born. I just come into the city after spending some time in the west. My apprenticeship was complete, my grandfather having sent me away to study the art of noodle-making and other cuisines. It was not a day after I returned that I saw the most beautiful creature in all the world."

Po rolled his eyes, he could only guess where the story was going and immediately denounced anything that Mr. Ping had to say, if only because he had heard it in countless other stories before.

"Let me guess" Po interjected, "Love at first sight right? Come on Dad, that's an old scene, it's been done."

Mr. Ping laughed and shook his head, for Po could not have been further from the truth, in fact, so far was he from it that it was almost insulting.

"Life doesn't work that way" Mr. Ping corrected, "No, it was much harder. You see, swans and geese aren't really compatible, true there are some similarities, but the differences are many and great."

Po raised his eyebrows and huffed, "What a minute?" Po continued, "She was a swan? Are you telling me-"

Mr. Ping shrugged again and shook his head pitifully, answering Po's question before he even finished it.

"Like I said" Mr. Ping defended, "I was young and stupid. We didn't have a lot in common at first to tell you the truth. In fact, in the beginning we couldn't stand each other. She would want to go on these adventures: to the jungles, the lakes, the mountains, and see things no one else had seen before. I wanted to stay in the city. I had seen enough for the world, it was jarring; I needed something stable."

Po scratched his head, for now the story wasn't making anything in the way of sense, it was contradictory and partially annoying, there was no action to speak of, nothing to keep him interested for any length of time; yet, if only because he wanted to understand, and in part to be nice to his father, Po humored him further and pried.

"So what did you do?" he asked, "How can you love someone and not get along? That doesn't make any sense."

Mr. Ping casually waved, signaling for Po to stand; after which he continued up the steps, waddling as so to save time.

"What do you think I did?" the goose said rhetorically, "I went with her."

Before Po could retort, Mr. Ping turned and immediately gave an answer, if only to speed up the process and possibly, the panda's understanding.

"Love can make you do things you never thought possible, even things that scare you."

Po sighed, on a personal level he hated it when his father started giving advice, it made him seem as if he were inferior in some way, as if there was always another lesson, always another thing to consider or an obstacle to overcome. The only thing that Po wanted to do, more than anything else in the world, was kung-fu, even just a little bit would have satisfied his appetite, yet, here he was, listening to his father talk about old flames on the steps of the palace. Close, and yet so far from where he wanted to be.

"What's your point Dad?" Po said anxiously, "That love is the greatest power we can have? That fear is an illusion and the only that we have to fear is our own insecurity?"

Mr. Ping wanted to slap Po as hard as he could, for even though he had spoken the truth, or at least part of it, he had done it with so arrogance and disrespect that it negated every single word, burying it with sarcasm and frustration. Instead of this however, Mr. Ping, heeding the words of his long dead father, kept his composure and continued his story, hoping that by the end of it, Po would understand.

"Once, we had come to a waterfall. This was after weeks and weeks of excursions and escapades, we had come to know each other. We knew each other's family histories: she came from a long line of artisans, from bakers to blacksmiths; we knew what foods we liked, what we didn't like, our favorite poems and places to relax. We had become fast friends. Yet, there was always something more, underneath the surface. It was by that waterfall, surrounded by trees, lily pads and mayflies that we began courtship."

Mr. Ping stopped for a moment, a small tear was in his eye; it was not a sad tear, but a happy one, full of memory and hope, the kind that one dares to let fall. Smiling as he felt it run down his cheek, Mr. Ping began to laugh inexplicably, it was soft and gentle, but constant.

"She died soon after. One day she just got sick and never recovered. Oh, she would have loved to meet you Po. You have her spirit."

Po, who had been lagging behind for the last few minutes, still within earshot, was confused at Mr. Ping's behavior; for he was speaking of someone who had died, someone he had loved, and laughing as if it were the happiest thing in the entire world.

"Why is that funny?" Po asked as he caught up, "She's dead. How can you be laughing about that?"

Mr. Ping shook his head in denial and gently waved him off, for Po was misinterpreting him entirely.

"You misunderstand" Mr. Ping clarified, slowly calming himself to prevent further confusion, "I was crushed. I didn't eat for almost seven days, practically starved myself to death. It was only after that I came to realize in those few moments that we had, we experienced everything."

The goose turned to Po and placed his wing on the panda's shoulder, trying to connect. Po, in turn, noticed his eyes and how bright they seemed, almost as if the universe had taken the night sky and had placed all the stars within them. It was a strange analogy, but still Po thought about it, and because of this, recognized the gravity of the conversation and the weight that Mr. Ping's words carried, and so he listened, both with his ears and with his heart.


	11. Chapter 11

FOX Studios, Family Guy, "The Portrait of a Dog" Unpublished Anthology Genealogical Piece

The Ballad of Ulysses

Stepping off the bus and into the Georgia heat with nothing but a suitcase, a worn journal, and a red baseball cap that he had borrowed from Chris, Brian could think of a hundred different reasons as to why he decided to come to his brother's funeral and none of them were good or what most people would consider noble reasons. In truth, Brian was not close to his brother, being separated relatively early on will do that, but that doesn't mean he didn't love him any less. He remembered fondly the one time that his brother told him that he loved him, the day their father died shortly after Brian was born, and the promise that was made- to love and protect him as if he were his own. Clutching the letter, for his family was old fashioned in terms of communication, Brian remembered the request that Jasper had made, that he was to be a pallbearer, and to say a few words on his behalf, Jasper unable to attend himself on account of other obligations, most likely a dodge, for Jasper, much like Brian, wasn't close to Ulysses, the deceased, nor did he care for him.

The church in which the ceremony was being held was a modest establishment; there were no grandiose stain glass artworks, no tapestries hanging from the ceiling, and no statues or displays of any kind. It was simple a building that was built for a simple purpose, a fitting situation, considering that Ulysses was considered by many to be simple minded, not someone to come up with complex ideas and ways of thinking. Brian didn't think that much of the church, not because of his beliefs, but because he was too busy thinking about everyone else. Sitting among his family members- his brothers Harmony and Rock; brother-in-law Heinrich; sisters Milly and Lily, twins; uncle, General; and nephew Skip; and niece Roxie- Brian could only think about how little he had seen of them, how much he had missed, only that day realizing that he was an uncle. As he thought, Brian began to look at his own life, wondering if he would ever leave such a legacy, if he, in all of his faults and insecurities, would ever find the undying light that so many run towards but never seem to reach.

"I wish I could have been there" Brian said, mostly talking to Skip, who was in front of him staring at the casket, "I'm sorry."

Skip huffed and shook his head, slightly annoyed, his eyes downcast and red with tears and lack of sleep.

"Save your sympathy for Roxie" Skip replied, "I don't need your pity and I don't need your help. Where were you the last four years? I'm sorry that this family isn't what you expected or even wanted, but it's the one you got."

Brian said nothing, for there were no words that existed that would justify anything, not even the Griffins in Rhode Island were enough to protect him from scrutiny. The only one who would possibly understand his situation would be Rock, who was calmly sitting in the far pew with a sleeping Roxie, Skip's sister. Brian, seeing that there was nothing he could do in persuade Skip of his intentions, calmly patted his nephew's shoulder before standing and walking towards better company. Skip, in turn, could only sigh pitifully, in complete disbelief that Brian dared put on a show for others sake, and once again faced the small wooden box in the front of the room as his mind drifted elsewhere.

Sitting down next to Roxie, Brian casually smiled, and gently brushed her back, content with himself for a moment.

"Long day?" Brian said, to no one in particular, Rock of course, being the only one within earshot.

Rock, dressed in a tuxedo, only nodded, never breaking gaze from the space that was directly in front of him, which held nothing of particular interest other than the occasional passing church fly.

"So-" Rock declared, completely ignoring Brian's question, instead asking one of his own, "Jasper didn't want to come himself so he sent you is that it?"

Brian nodded, he saw no reason to deny it, it was plain as day.

"How's the Navy?" Brian asked, attempting to segue into easy conversation. Rock, catching this, rolled his eyes and scowled, for there was no possible way that Brian would get out of the situation so easily; they needed to talk about Ulysses, that was the reason, at least partly, as to why they were all here.

"Typical" Rock continued, "Always trying to dodge the real issues aren't you? If you were Jasper I might indulge you, but you're not. You don't care about the Navy, you care about getting in and getting out and going back to wherever you came from."

Brian was personally getting tired of everyone telling him why he was there and what his reasons for coming were. He was especially annoyed that everyone assumed that he was, in general, a horrible person; he was indeed a horrible person, a horrible dog too, but that didn't mean that he couldn't pretend for a few hours that he wasn't a horrible person who backed out on everything he held dear at the slightest provocation.

"Give me some credit here Rock" Brian defended, "What does it matter why I'm here? I'm here aren't I? I wanted to see you guys, I know that we haven't been close and things got hectic the last time we got together-"

Rock raised his paw, for he considered himself first and foremost a dog, stopping Brian and cutting him.

"You and Ulysses almost killed each other after you got too drunk, Uncle Ollie, God his rest his soul, ran his car into the pond; two tables, a chair, a dining room china set and a priceless painting were all destroyed in the span of an hour and by the end of it everyone was covered in blood, beer, glass, and bits of teeth. That isn't hectic. That's the Devil at Christmastime."

Brian couldn't help but smile, it was nice looking back on it, how even in fights there seemed to be some kind of connection between them all; even Milly and Lily, who were relatively decent, were known to have a bad drunken side, a trait that ran in the family since before Brian's grandparents. He wasn't exactly sure what to call it, if it was love or hatred, a bit of both or perhaps something else altogether; if anything it was a deep found respect.

"You should come by our house at Christmas" Brian answered promptly, "Something is bound to be destroyed at some point."

Rock stifled a laugh and shook his head, "Always the comedian, eh Brian? Well I can't say you get it honest."

An awkward moment of silence between them, there was nothing really for them to say to each other, at least nothing of interest and nothing that didn't pertain to Ulysses; it was as if all social convention and the act of simple small talk had left them, in favor of silence and uncomfortable thoughts inside their own heads.

Walking out of the church and into the graveyard, Brian noticed how grey everything seemed to be, even though the sky was still bright blue as the sun began to wane. It was not the weather that made it seem that way, but the nature of the funeral itself. Everyone it seemed was trying to put on a happy face, despite their insides saying otherwise. They wanted to scream, to shout at the top of the world at the unfairness of it all. They wanted justice that was impossible to carry out, but above all, they wanted redemption, in part for Ulysses, and in part for having to live with Ulysses.

After the coffin was laid down in the dirt, the slow and silent walk to the limousines began. Brian walked with Heinrich and Milly, who after moving a respectable distance from the grave, began to talk casually about taking one of the children in. Heinrich, being a German Shepard and a dog of tradition, could only rationalize that Skip, being a male, was the only obvious choice. Milly, on the other hand, disagreed completely, saying that Roxie was brought up better, a more admirable quality than having a certain set of genitals.

"Manners are learned behaviors" Heinrich argued, "We can teach Skip that, besides it would be good for him to learn some discipline."

Milly rolled her eyes, "And what about Roxie?" she countered, "We're just going to leave her out in the dirt? Who's going to take care of her- Brian?"

Brian, who was half listening, personally not really caring about which one went where, at the sound of his name shot up attentively, jolting himself out of the daydream he was having that involved a rhesus monkey for some reason.

"What'd I do?" Brian asked, "Who's taking care of who?"

Milly shook her head and sighed, "Both of you are impossible" she declared.

Heinrich smiled at this, for he knew that whenever Milly called someone impossible it was a declaration of love. It also meant that the current argument was being postponed, and that it would undoubtedly be continued, but that was for another time. Brian made no such connection, as far as he was concerned it was the greatest insult he could possibly receive.

"The only things that are impossible are the things that are worth doing" Heinrich said as he reached the limousine, "That is why we look to Heaven so often."

Brian huffed at the notion, he hoped that he would get through a single day without the question of God and the existence of a higher power coming into conversation, but at a funeral, surrounded by family, he knew that it was unavoidable. Still, despite this, he let it go, if only for the sake of everyone else and to get it over with as soon as possible and back on the next flight to Rhode Island.

The limo ride to Ulysses' house was uncomfortable in almost every sense of the word. Milly and Heinrich bludgeoned and battered with questions that Brian either did not want to answer or simply did not know the answer to; the driver, a portly man, kept munching on his lunch that he had brought, a tuna sandwich, as if it were the End of the World, and everything smelled of leather to the point where it was overwhelming and generally annoying.

"So Brian" Milly began, "When are we going to see your family?"

Heinrich nodded, overly excited, wanting nothing more than to be included in the discussion.

"Yes. How are the children, Brian? Are they well?"

Brian immediately became uneasy, for over the years in what little correspondence he had with them, he had maintained that he was the adoptive father of three, that he had found work as a harbormaster and was currently engaged to an equally imagined woman named Juliana. As for his imaginary children, their names were Chaplin, Rembrandt, and Anna-Marie, all of them honor students and aspiring to be a lawyer, a scientist, and a doctor respectively. In regards to the Griffins, Brian simply referred to them as The Masters. Most of these things he told to Milly, Lily, and General in order to keep up the appearance that he was well off.

"They're fine" Brian answered, bullshitting his way to freedom "Chaplin's only a year and a half and he's already smarter than I am; Rembrandt's an artist like his name-sake; Anna-Marie, she's still figuring things out, but she's got a bright future ahead of her, I'm sure of it."

Heinrich laughed heartedly, for if it was one thing he was proud of it was good parenting.

"With a father like you there's nothing they can't do" Heinrich said reassuringly, "That my friend, I am sure of."

Milly nodded, in full agreement, and gently brushed up against her husband, a soft smile creeping on her face. Heinrich, in response, let out a sigh, it was deep and full of content, as if life could not get any better than where it was in the moment. Brian, the more he looked on at this scene, wished that he had something that gave his life such purpose, that the lie he had created was in fact his reality; for the time being, he would have to be content with what his imagination thought up next. He just hoped that it didn't run out.


End file.
